Daddy's Boy
by StormsInNeverland
Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt. **

**Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Chapters: Was supposed to be a oneshot, but will probably be a threeshot.**

**It's Kyle here! So, I called my family today to wish them Merry Christmas, and when I was talking to my dad (who I love, honestly) I was reminded of this thing that happened when I was about seventeen years old, maybe sixteen. So what did I decide to do? Put it into a story! Certain lines are taken from the truth, you'll probably be able to guess as you go along. I embellished a bit to include some Puckurt, in reality my experience didn't result in a cute/hot/beautiful romance with a sexy mohawked jock.**

**Please review, it makes me happy to know people care. Christmas is a time of sharing, after all!**

**-Kyle xxx  
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(one)

Kurt never enjoyed his father's _guy nights_. It wasn't that he didn't like his dad having a good time - he just didn't particularly like the company his father kept while having it.

Many of Burt Hummel's old school and college friends had left Lima, but every time they passed within a hundred mile radius they would stop by, claiming to only have time for a quick drink, but more often than not would end up staying the night in the spare room. It was always a night full of empty beer bottles and greasy pizza boxes and loud football reruns.

Kurt just stayed out of the way.

It was the first _guy night _since Finn and Carole moved in, and after an unnecessary explanation from her fiancé Carole had decided to have a girl's night with her sister on the other side of town. The visitor? A tall man with squarely curved jaw line and sharp green eyes by the name of Vincent Mallory, _Vince _to most and _Vinnie _to his closest friends.

Burt had introduced his old football friend to his son and his almost-stepson, eagerly arguing with Kurt over whether or not he was allowed to have his usual beers and take out. Vinnie had made polite conversation with Finn about school football and possible colleges while Kurt pointed out with a forceful hand drinking beer meant he would have to eat healthily instead of take out, threatening to call and cancel any take out orders that were made. He offered the two men some healthily cooked fries (_not the same_, Burt had argued good-naturedly) and chicken salad. They'd accepted the fries and declined the salad with a mutual look of distaste at the suggestion.

Kurt and Finn were joined for the evening by their almost-lodger, Noah Puckerman, who seemed to spend more time at the Hudson-Hummel home than his own. He'd arrived just as Burt and Vinnie began a gentle banter of College Football versus Deadliest Catch, and had nodded respectfully towards the two men as he waltzed coolly towards Kurt's basement bedroom, where Finn and Kurt were already snapping at each other - Finn wanting to have a sci-fi marathon, Kurt claiming it had been far too long since he'd watched Moulin Rouge.

Puck quickly settled the matter by choosing Fight Club. Finn had been confused as to why Kurt wouldn't want to watch Star Trek, but would watch a violent _action_-_y_ film; Puck simply winked at the slender boy, knowing all too well Kurt Hummel would have no complaints about watching half naked men getting sweaty together. Kurt blushed, still a little uncertain of the unspoken truce-slash-friendship that he'd somehow managed to form with Puck, but grateful for the mohawked teen's discretion, even if it was carried out with an unnecessary amount of silent teasing.

They settled down to watch the film, Finn lounging over the overstuffed beanbag while Kurt stretched across his bed, Puck curled at its foot, occasionally pinching Kurt's toes when a sticky, sweaty Brad Pitt came onto the screen. The sounds of Burt Hummel's guy night weren't too loud, but Kurt still smiled at the sound of his father's faint laughter from upstairs - he hadn't heard his dad quite so _young _sounding since before his heart attack.

"Hey, Kurt?" Finn mumbled just as Edward Norton and Helena Bonham-Carter began arguing in the middle of a restaurant. They'd passed Kurt's favourite moment in the movie, so he didn't mind being disturbed too much; despite this, he attempted a tone of mild irritation as he replied.

"Yes?"

"Are you like, hungry?"

"What do you want, Hudson?"

Puck snorted at Kurt's sigh, and Kurt kicked him hard in the ribs.

"Just…food? I don't really care."

"Carrot sticks?" Kurt smirked.

"Dude!" Finn protested, and Kurt saw Puck bite the duvet to hold back another chuckle.

"I'll get you some ice cream," Kurt grumbled, unaffected by the wide grin he received from his soon-to-be-stepbrother, who looked ready to hug him, if only he'd had the energy to heave himself off the beanbag.

"You're awesome, dude."

"Yeah, dude!" Puck crowed after Kurt, who narrowed his eyes playfully.

"You want some, Noah?"

"_Puck_ would like some," Puck pushed pointedly with a disapproving frown. Kurt smiled sweetly, shrugging as he walked away.

"Whatever you say, Noah."

Kurt sauntered up the steps, purposefully ignoring the flirty gaze Puck sent after him because he was determined to _not_ blush this time. He carefully opened the door at the top of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt his father's conversation, but was surprised to find himself walking into an empty living room.

Just as he was about to call out, he heard voices coming from the kitchen and realised the two men must have relocated to the kitchen. He didn't exactly _mean_ to eavesdrop, it was an honest accident. He just heard a few words, and then suddenly he found himself rooted to the spot, paralysed by the conversation taking place only a few feet away, hidden from around the corner.

"…_real good job, she's not exactly Ellie, but she sounds like a great gal. And that Finn's a real sport, ain't he_?" Kurt smiled at Vinnie's approval of Carole and Finn, over the past few weeks they had finally starting to feel like a completion of the half-family he and his father had lived as for far too long.

"_Yeah, I reckon I've done pretty good. I love them both, so.._."

"_That's the main thing…shame about your kid, though_."

Kurt froze, and he felt his father do the same, despite not being able to see either of them.

"_What's that supposed to mean_?" Burt Hummel's voice was expressionless, words spoken hesitantly, as if he wasn't entirely sure he wanted an answer.

"_Aw come on, Burt. Don't look at me like that. You gonna tell me you're proud of being a homo's daddy_?"

Kurt's mouth went dry. He tried wetting his lips, but his tongue seemed to have swollen, constricting his breaths and catching his words.

"_You want to rethink that sentence, Vincent_?" Burt asked, slow and deliberate.

A wave of love washed over Kurt, and a weak smile pulled at his lips. In that moment he heard the soft snap of the basement door open, and his head whipped around to see Puck looking upon him with a questioning gaze, looking confused when Kurt shook his head to silence the question about to leave his lips. Puck stopped next to Kurt, wondering what they were doing.

It became all too clear when the drawling reply to Burt's question met their pricked ears.

"_Burt, I know you. I've known you a long time. Look me in the eye and tell me if you had a line of possible sons, you'd pick your little Princess out of the entire bunch every time_."

Kurt looked shamefully away as he saw Puck's expression melt into bemusement, a frown creasing his brow and his mouth pulled downwards.

"_Vin…that's my kid_," Did Burt sound…tired, as he said that? He hiccupped, and Kurt wondered vaguely how many beers they'd managed to get through already. "_And I don't expect you to understand. He's my child, and I love him. I'd love him if he was attracted to girls, to guys, or to goddamn puppy dogs_."

For a second it seemed like a compliment, and the smile had almost reached Kurt's facial muscles when his throat began to burn.

"_Okay, you can't claim to be totally fine with your queer son and then compare gayness to bestiality, Burt._"

"_I did not_-"

"_You just compared your son having sex with guys to having sex with dogs. You telling me you like any of that shit_?"

Puck had stepped closer, Kurt could hear his breathing, feel it on his neck. Reaching blindly backwards he searched for Puck, and the jock seemed to understand, because a surprisingly tender hand grasped Kurt's, squeezing lightly in comfort.

"_I'm not saying it's easy, Vin. I'm saying I do it because I love my kid_."

"_But if you could, you wouldn't say no to a straight son_?"

"_…A straight son would probably be easier, yes,_" Burt's voice was still slow, contrasting oddly with Vincent's quips and bursts of derisiveness. "_But he'd not be Kurt if he was straight_." Kurt didn't even have space in his head to feel guilty as he possibly broke Puck's hand, clasping tightly and refusing to let go of the older teen's fingers, his only lifeline.

"_So you're telling me_-"

"_Vincent_," Burt grumbled; his voice seemed to break, and Kurt flinched back a little, his shoulder hitting Puck's chest. "_I'm not saying I wake up every morning and thank god my son has a hard life ahead of him. Kurt's a good kid; he takes care of me, helps out in the garage, and he does me proud. And yeah, maybe I am kind of disappointed we don't have any football traditions. Maybe I am sad I'll never rush to the hospital, have to shut up shop early for the day and tell everyone I pass that I'm in a hurry because I'm about to be a grandfather. Maybe I feel awkward that I can't talk to Kurt about girls and we won't do the father-son girl talk things I had with my dad…_"

Puck stepped closer, if that was even possible. His hand still in Kurt's, his front flush against Kurt's back, but he didn't dare speak. He could hear Kurt gasping for breath, too scared to move. He wanted to say something, anything to spare the boy the pain, but he seemed to have lost his voice. His words tangled in his throat, and he bit his lip fretfully.

"…_I'm not saying I'm happy about all the trouble I have to go through to make sure my kid's safe. I'm not saying I love the harassment and the judgement and the prejudice that goes on. And I'm not saying I'm ready to accept my kid likes the get _fucked _instead of fucking…_" The first tears spilled crystallised onto Kurt's cheeks as he winced. His father never swore like that, especially in such a crude context. His heart clenched painfully, and he fought for breath, leaning back ever so slightly into Puck. He didn't have it in him to be embarrassed. He could tell Burt was angry, but he had no idea where the anger was directed. at Vinnie? Or at him? "…_but he's my son_."

"_So it's your _duty_ to love him, that right?_ _You love him the way he is because you have to love him,_" Vinnie finished, sounding smug.

The silence was only brief, but it was enough for Kurt, in his panicked state, to gasp a strangled sob of despair. The silence intensified, and Kurt staggered out of Puck's grasp, humiliation blossoming a scarlet stain in his cheeks as he found himself in full view of the kitchen. In the second or two that followed, Kurt saw Vincent's eyebrows raise in impassioned amusement, while Burt's entire expression fell, muscles relaxing from anger to fear in a heartbeat, before he turned on his heel and stumbled towards the front door.

He was outside by the time he registered two voices shouting his name, Burt's a cracked cry and Puck's a husky shout.

He ran. Without his keys he couldn't get in his baby and drive far away, so he had to run instead.

He wondered where Finn was up to in Fight Club, whether he'd realised he and Puck weren't back yet, and a line from the movie drifted into his head…**_I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more. _**He felt like the Narrator of Fight Club, only he wasn't running _to_ something, he was running _away_. Something he'd sworn he'd never do.

He'd sworn on the grave where his mother was buried that he would never run away from the obstacles life threw him. And of all the people in this big bad world, it was his father that had pushed him to break that promise to himself.

He could hear Puck chasing him, and he cursed under his breath as air whistled up and down his throat in painful gasps and gulps. His muscles were burning, his veins pumping battery acid, and he was still running.

The rush of air slapped even colder against his damp cheeks, and his feet kept tripping over nothing, ankles jolting; he nearly tumbled to the floor several times, and he would yelp as he fought to keep his balance. Puck was catching up.

His father's voice was running around and around in his head, words jumping out at him, causing his heart to twinge with betrayal. Because nothing that had been said would have caused him to so much as bat an eyelid if anyone else had said it.

_I will fight to the death for your right to love whoever you want_. Kurt still had no doubt his father would do exactly that. But was that what he would be thinking while he was doing it? Would he fight for his son's rights, all the while thinking how goddamn disappointed he was that he was having to do it?

Puck's footsteps were practically on top of him, and Kurt let rip a scream of rage as he pushed faster, desperately avoiding the jock's outstretched hands.

In his efforts his legs gave out. His knees slammed into the pavement, shooting sharp pains right up his legs and his hands hit the floor, skin scuffed and gravel embedded between tiny droplets of blood. Puck almost fell over him, he had been so close to catching him. He collapsed around the smaller boy, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he muttered a constant stream of _Hey, come on, hey, Kurt, hey, hey_…and at first Kurt wondered why the boy was speaking so quietly, and then he realised it was because Puck's words were being drowned out by his own sobs.

Etiquette and fragile friendship bonds forgotten he pressed his face into Puck's shoulder, shifting in the boy's embrace to fist his shirt.

"It's ok," Puck was whispered into his hair, his voice hard and angry. Kurt flinched involuntarily at his tone, and Puck guiltily reached up a hand to pat the back of his neck in as comforting a gesture as he figured he could manage without making Kurt push him away.

The cold was swallowing them like the darkness. They were on an unfamiliar street, houses on both sides all dark and closed up, and yet so warm and welcoming. In the distance they heard the faintest cry of _Kurt _and _Puck_, Finn clearly having been sent out in search of them. The rumbling of a car was just about audible in the night's hum, and Kurt wondered idly if his dad was out looking for him, too.

So wrapped in his thoughts, he almost missed Puck's hesitant, gentle question.

"Want me to take you home?"

They both knew that by home they didn't mean back to the Hudson-Hummel house, but Kurt nodded anyway. He couldn't bring himself to protest as Puck scooped him up into his arms, or complain that, being male, he shouldn't be getting carried bridal style down the street by a McKinley High stud.

He just let the tears fall, hoping they would help wash away the scars of betrayal that had been cut at the words of his father.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt. **

**Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Chapters: Was supposed to be a oneshot, but will be a bit longer.**

***I disclaim "Into The West", sung by Annie Lennox for The Lord of the Rings* Also, I had a Jewish friend from college who said his mother called him _matok_, meaning _sweet_…maybe I remembered inaccurately, if I did, I'm sorry, please forgive me. Thirdly, I've made Puck's sister a bit younger than I think she might have been originally…and I've called her Sarah, maybe a bit predictable, but oh well.**

**Oh, and as far as timelines go...I'm sort of ignoring Blaine *SORRY!* Karofsky is bullying Kurt, but hasn't kissed him yet, and Puck has been in juvie, but obviously is now out. I rearranged Burt and Carole's engagement a little, so they're living together and engaged. Hope you don't mind TOO much =)  
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**Major shout out to _me and Mr. Jones_, because she's a right babe. Lotta love for her, and a lotta love for the reviews from: _patipatiti_, _Angelwahalla and Spazwahalla_, _xXFreedom-ReaderXx, TranquillityofPassion, Kurtsie, ASiriuslyGleekyTimeLord, Patricia Sage, gleelover, gleeker25, Klaine Anderberry 123, _and _VirginiaGiver_. You're all sexy as hell, and I love you.**

**More Puckurtness than I intended…oh well, can never be too much Puckurt in a story. Burt and Kurt will have a chat next time, I promise.**

**Please review, my pretty little things! It makes the colours of my rainbow even brighter =) -Kyle xxx**

(two)

Kurt was trembling by the time they reached the Puckerman household, but whether from the cold or something less easily fixed he couldn't be sure.

Puck's arms were strong around him, supporting him even after he'd been set back on his feet, and they shuffled at a pace that Kurt had been allowed to set through streets of Lima, not stopping until Puck had bundled Kurt through his front door with a firm grasp of his hands and a gentle _sshh_ on his lips.

He had hoped to sneak the sniffling, shivering boy upstairs unnoticed, but naturally the one time he wanted his mother to be on night shift was the one night she wasn't.

"_Noah_, _matok?_" a voice drifted from the kitchen, as did the crackle of a hot pan and the wafting scent of her signature dish: late night grilled cheese. Puck groaned, leaning into Kurt's shoulder and apologising briefly under his breath.

He tried to urge his friend quicker to the stairs as Joanna Puckerman appeared in the doorway. She was wearing her _concerned_ expression on her face, and looked ready to reprimand her son for not answering to her, but her face melted with motherness as she took in the scene before her. "Noah matok?" she repeated, eyes zoning in on Kurt's half shielded face.

"Ma," Puck mumbled, flushing as he weighed out whether Kurt's anger was to be more or less feared than his mother's. "This is Kurt," he said abruptly. He felt disconcerted by the soft smile on his mother's lips, but was glad as she rushed forwards to Kurt's other side.

"You come with me, Kurt," she commanded in her best _Ma_ tone, pulling him out of her son's grasp. Kurt looked ready to protest, and even began to speak in a cracked voice, but Joanna's stern hush was enough to silence him in a few gulps of air. "You sit," she said, pushing him into a chair at the kitchen table. Kurt's eyes were still leaking stray tears, but she brushed them away with a brisk hand and returned to her almost-burnt grilled cheese. "Noah?"

She looked expectantly at her son, who stood dumbfounded beside the door, observing with a keen eye, looking a little…embarrassed?

"Noah, shut your mouth, matok, you are not a fish. Now, Kurt, isn't it?" Kurt nodded slowly. His eyes were wide and staring, ocean blue speckled with glazed tears, which had dried a splotchy red across his cold cheeks. He looked from mother to son in a daze. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is, sweet?" she crooned, kneeling beside the boy. Kurt's lower lip trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut, head bowing as he clenched his fists into his jumper.

"Ma," Puck interrupted, pulling a _not now_ face, which only encouraged Joanna's worried curiosity.

"Kurt," she sighed, a hand on his head. "You wait here, sweet," she soothed, pushing herself off her knees. Her eyes found those of her son's, and Puck knew the signs. Though reluctant to leave Kurt alone, he recognised the look in his mother's face and knew better than to argue. He trudged back into the living room, and Joanna, after running her fingers lightly through her unexpected guest's hair, followed.

The empty room was unnecessary to drown Kurt in loneliness.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, listening to the incoherent hum of Noah Puckerman relating to his mother the night's events. He hadn't had a moment to even _think _about what had happened. He'd just panicked and ran without thought.

But now, it seemed, he had time to think. The only problem was he had no idea what he was supposed to be thinking.

What was he supposed to do? Pack up his things, leave home and never speak to his father again? Of course not. The very thought of such a thing, as well as paining the boy to even consider, was ridiculous. In any case, where would he live? Mercedes' house? Tina's house? _Puck's _house? It was laughable.

Not that he felt much like laughing. In fact, if his eyes hadn't been stinging from the last fit of hysterics into Puck's shirt, he would probably have felt more like crying all over again.

At that thought his cheeks filled crimson and the lump in his throat tasted sickly with shame.

What sort of person cried at a few words?

_A weak one_, he told himself darkly, _a weak one like me_.

The only time he'd ever seen Finn cry was when he found out about the babygate scandal…he'd seen Mike Chang cry once, and that was when he sprained his ankle and had been forced to withdraw from a dance competition…he'd definitely never seen Puck cry. And yet here he was, weeping over a few things his daddy said.

He thought back to those _few things_.

They replayed in his head, as if his father was standing right next to him, repeating them in his ear. He wanted so badly to be angry at his dad, but he couldn't bring himself to be. It was so much easier to hate himself instead. He couldn't find it in himself to be mad that his own dad found it so tiring to have to protect him all the time; he was just mad that he needed to be protected at all. He couldn't hate that his dad assumed a gay son meant no grandchildren; he couldn't quite form the word _adoption _in his head, let alone _surrogacy_. And between his prickling eyes and clogged throat he hadn't yet stopped to think how wrong his father was; did his dad just assume he was destined to a sex life of only every bottoming? He was too embarrassed that his dad had even thought about it to rationalise anything.

His cheeks were burning, remnants of old tears doing nothing to cool him down, and he was so lost in his confusion he almost didn't notice the small figure sneak through the doorway. She looked to be not yet ten years old. Her soft brown hair was pillow rumpled, one of her cheeks reddened from being laid upon. She stared with sleepy eyes at Kurt, taking in his slumped frame with something akin to curiosity, rather than outright shock.

Her shell pink lips parted in question, but she paused, a frown creasing her brows for a few seconds before she found her voice. "You're Kurt."

If Kurt had had the energy to care, he'd possibly have fallen off his chair in surprise.

"How do you know that?" he whispered. She stepped casually closer, her hands clasped in front of her as she twisted her fingers shyly.

"Noh talks about you. There's a picture of you in his room."

Kurt's lips pursed as he worked out who _no _was, and he automatically glanced at the door through which Puck was still talking to his mother.

"Noah has a picture of me?"

"Well," the girl sighed, twirling a lock of hair in one hand and shifting on the balls of her feet. "Not of you. It's of his glee club. But it's got you in it, and Noh says he likes it because you're stood next to him in it."

Kurt didn't really know what to make of that, so he brushed past the revelation, trying his best not to read anything into it.

"You're Sarah, right?" he asked. The girl pushed her chin into her chest, trying to hide her wide grin.

A breathy _Yes _escaped her twisting lips.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Sarah?" Kurt asked quietly. He knew this - the responsibility, taking care of somebody. It made him feel safer to be concerned for someone else.

Sarah pouted, and Kurt felt a flutter of fondness as she recognised the exact expression he had seen her brother pull countless times. She looked ready to defend herself, but in that moment there was a loud cry of _Matok! _and they both turned to see Joanna Puckerman standing with her hands on her hips, looking a mixture of amused and disapproving.

"Ma," Sarah groaned, pleading eyes looking to Puck for help as he sidled past his mother to take a seat beside Kurt, looking totally at ease as he slung a protective arm around the smaller boy.

"What are you doing awake?" the woman cried, throwing her arms in the air and rushing to tickle her daughter fondly. Sarah squealed, wriggling out of her grip and running to hide behind the two boys at the table. Her giggle was infectious, Puck laughing fondly at her, and even Kurt's lips pulled just a little at her tinkling voice. "Are you hungry, matok?"

Sarah nodded, eyes fixated on the sizzling grill. Joanna hummed a sigh as she flipped the large grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate, cutting it in half and handing the equal parts to each of her children. She could tell instinctively, by the nausea on Kurt's face, that her guest didn't want any for himself. Instead, she rubbed the grease from her fingers onto her dressing gown.

"Hungry, Kurt?" she offered with a sympathetic smile. Kurt hated it - the obvious, badly hidden pity in the woman's eyes. He shook his head, looking down at the floor. "Matok, take your food to the living room. Put on a film, ok?" she said to Sarah.

The girl looked affronted at the blunt rejection, but she didn't complain as she trudged with heavy feet out of the kitchen, leaving her mother with the two teenage boys.

"Kurt, sweet, Noah told me what happened," Joanna began. Though he already knew this, Kurt's breath caught behind his lips, and he nearly choked on air. "And I want you to listen to me."

Kurt nodded slowly, captivated as he realised Noah had the exact same shape of eyes as his mother, only while the boy's were a melted hazel, the woman's were a deep, cocoa brown.

"What your father said-" she paused, licking her lips, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Apparently the mother had a better brain to mouth filter than the son. "What your father said was very hurtful, I understand." Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes in a _well duh_ gesture. "But I don't want you to make the mistake of believing he meant what he said."

"Mrs P-"

"No, Kurt, you will listen to me." Joanna pressed an index finger to the boy's lips, kneeling in front of him again and taking both his hands in hers tightly. "Did you know what as well as Jews, the Nazis also discriminated against homosexuals?"

Kurt didn't really understand the relevance of this fact to _anything_, but he nodded nonetheless, throwing Puck a bemused expression. Puck smiled encouragingly, used to his mother leaping at the chance to mention Hitler's genocide of her people at any opportunity.

"The point is that like us, as Jews, there will always be people who think less of you, Kurt." If nothing else, at least the pained, protective love in the woman's eyes was genuine looking. "But your father is not one of those people. He loves you, Kurt."

Kurt wanted to speak. He wanted to shout it to the heavens above.

_Of course my dad loves me!_

But the words stuck to his tongue, tasting as sour as his tears did salty.

"What he said - that was the beer talking, and probably over-tiredness, too, I'd imagine." She was rubbing his knuckles with her thumbs as she talked in her best, comforting nurse voice.

"No, Mrs Puckerman-"

"Joanna."

"_Joanna_…the beer? And the over-tiredness? They just gave him the chance to finally speak his mind. Gaga knows, his queer son spends so much time talking it's no wonder he spilled his truths to the first friend to show him some compassion-"

"Bullshit!" Puck snapped, and Joanna glanced warningly at her son, silently chastising him for his language, and then refocused her attentions on the embittered, slighter boy in her son's arms.

"Noah is right, Kurt. That's not true and you know it."

"Do I?" Kurt hiccupped, and the defensive glare seemed to melt away, leaving the bare fear that had scrubbed his face raw with tears. "Because why would he say…those things…if he wasn't thinking them, even subconsciously? Maybe he didn't _know _he was thinking them, but deep down…"

"Deep down, your father is scared of the unknown, just like everybody else," Joanna concluded wisely, giving the boy's hands an extra squeeze, and Puck shuffled closer to Kurt, so the boy's small shoulder was pressed into his chest. "Do you think peer pressure is limited to teenagers, Kurt?"

At this her eyes seemed to stray to her son, who bowed his head in what looked to be almost shame.

"Peer pressure follows everybody. I smoked for many years, all because my best friend pushed the thought of it into my head when I was fifteen. Last year Sarah cried for hours and hours because her life wouldn't be complete without the horse I refused to buy her, just because two of the girls in her class have horses, and apparently they are the 'cool girls'."

Puck snorted at this, and Joanna shook her head sadly.

"People put ideas in your head that are very hard to get rid of. It sounds to me like your father was put into a position where he had to choose between his son and the life he once had, with his old friends. Now, maybe it's wrong that he didn't automatically choose you straight away, and that he tried to hover in the middle for as long as possible…but we're not perfect, Kurt, not even parents. _Especially_ not parents."

In her pause, Kurt found himself sniffling, incapable of feeling embarrassed when Puck pulled him even closer. The boy smelled of sweat, and grilled cheese, and washing powder. It comforting, and homely, and Kurt inhaled to calm himself.

"Do you think I've never screwed up?" Joanna asked quietly. "Do you think I've never let my children down?" Kurt didn't miss the way one of Puck's hands left him to rest lightly on his mother's arm, looking uncharacteristically understanding. She was pleading, both boys could tell, and she couldn't quite pass blaming the shine in her eyes on the old smoke from grilling pan.

Though Kurt was nodding, she could see the disbelief in his eyes. She had never met this boy before, only ever heard talk of him from her son, and she had no idea how to get through to him. She could only say what she knew, and hope something, if anything, reached him.

"Matok, take Kurt upstairs. Sleep will do everyone good."

"What about my dad?" Kurt asked, the words barely more than breath passing over his lips.

"You have his number?" The boy nodded, slipping his cell phone out of his pocket and warily handing it over to the woman. "You," she said firmly, taking the phone and standing up briskly. "Sleep. I will call him. Tomorrow is Sunday, we will sort things out when the sun can shed some light on the situation."

Kurt looked ready to cry with relief. He leaned forwards abruptly, pressing his face into her abdomen and wrapping his arms around her waist. Though she gasped, her motherly instincts forced her to reciprocate the hug with full force, and her eyes found her son. But Noah wasn't looking at her - he was looking at the boy, and Joanna didn't need to be his mother to recognise the look in his eye as he watched the boy hug her, as if _he _wanted to be the one Kurt was hugging.

She didn't comment, however; she simply prised Kurt's arms from around her, and he shivered, looking horrified at his informality. He began mumbling an apology, but she waved his words away.

"Sleep, sweet. Go now, matok. I will call…Burt?" she checked, and Kurt cringed, his head jerking in what she assumed was a nod.

Not waiting for her to dial, Puck gently scooped his friend up into a standing position and nudged him out of the room.

Sarah was curled on the sofa, the television on but her eyes followed her brother instead of the characters on the screen. Noah raised an eyebrow expectantly, and she shrugged innocently.

"Bed?" he asked in his most authoritative tone, and even in his vulnerable state Kurt let out a breathless chuckle at the sudden change in the mohawked boy.

"I want some milk," Sarah sighed dramatically, and all three knew she was simply stalling.

"Well you can fight with Ma over that one," Puck grinned, winking at his sister, authority lost as he began tugging Kurt's arm, leading him into the hall and up the stairs.

Kurt followed obediently, unable to protest. Puck was warm, and comforting, and his voice was so…_not-_Puck. He wanted to curl sideways and press his forehead into his neck.

This realisation worried Kurt. He tensed noticeably, causing Puck to glance at him fretfully, and his grip tightened, as if he thought Kurt would run away if not properly steered. Kurt remained frozen, and as distant as possible. He opened his mouth in a dry gasp as Puck led him to a semi-open door, but before he could object he found himself in Noah Puckerman's bedroom, the door closing behind him with an ominous snap, a double bed in front of him.

"Noah…" Kurt mumbled, already blushing.

"I can go downstairs if you want," Puck said immediately, fully aware of Kurt's discomfort.

"It's just…" Kurt explained uneasily, unable to quite meet the jock's gaze.

"Kurt, if me being here makes you uncomfortable that's fine," Puck insisted, and he moved to stand in front of the boy, putting his hands on his shoulders. "But if you think _I'd _be uncomfortable to be here, that's not fine. I'm pretty sure I'm badass enough to take care of myself." He grinned his flirtiest grin, waggling both his hips and eyebrows, and Kurt couldn't help it as from his lips there burst a noise that wasn't a sob, but it wasn't a laugh, either.

"Whatever you want," he muttered, hoping the room was dark enough to hide his blush.

"Ok, well I think I have some spare clothes you can sleep in. Let me check."

As Puck busied himself at his chest of drawers, which were unsurprisingly messy inside, no matter how neat they looked when closed, Kurt sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, turning his attention to the bedside cabinet. Beside the magazine that Kurt didn't dare turn over to see the cover of, and the battered alarm clock that he doubted still worked properly, and the sweet wrappers that had covered the wood in a sticky shine, there were two photos clipped together, pinned to an old lamp.

The first photo had been folded, hiding the far right, leaving only a younger Joanna Puckerman visible, with what Kurt assumed to be a baby Sarah in her arms and a young Noah beside her; there was an arm, most certainly a man's, around Noah's shoulders, but it seemed Noah had no wish to look upon Mr Puckerman (as Kurt was sure it was) beside his head as he went to sleep every night, because he'd been creased out.

The second photo was of New Directions, including Mr Schuester. He remember Brad had taken the photo for them not long after Puck returned from juvie. Kurt's eyes skimmed past his teammates, remembering what Sarah had told him, and found she was right. In the middle of the group, between Finn and Mercedes, stood Noah Puckerman and Kurt Hummel. They weren't embracing, or leaning into one another, or even _looking _at one another, but still, they looked…comfortable, standing happily next to each other. Kurt smiled, reaching a finger out to run over the photo, slowing down as he traced himself and Puck with perhaps (though he'd never admit it) a little more care than the others.

"I kind of like it," Noah's voice interrupted his silent musings, and Kurt jumped. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone for a moment, and he turned to see Puck holding out a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Kurt forced his nose to not wrinkle as he accepted the gift, self-consciously glancing around.

"Errm…privacy?" he asked timidly, and Puck snorted.

"Dude…fine," he conceded at the look Kurt threw him. Shrugging, he turned away, walking to the window and surveying the street below as he waited for Kurt to undress.

If he hadn't felt bad enough as it was for intruding on the Puckerman's home, Kurt would have demanded Puck leave, as he knew Noah had known he meant. Not wanting to spark an argument, he hastily scrambled out of his clothes and into Noah's. And if he thought he saw the mohawked head turn a little, and felt a pair of hazel eyes glance him over several times? He didn't comment, he simply rushed a little more, hopping and cursing under his breath as he nearly tripped over several times in his rush.

Once dressed, holding the sweatpants at his hips, mortifyingly aware that they would fall down if he let go, he coughed loudly.

"Okay," Noah began to smirk, but his lips suddenly twisted, the arrogant Puck-smile softening into a kinder smile, genuine and conveying an emotional understanding rather than flirty conceitedness. Kurt felt a little too disconcerted by the niceness of his usually vulgar, whorish, rude, mean friend to reply with an equally genuine smile.

Puck didn't seem concerned by this, though. He began to strip down as if there wasn't a potential admirer of his body several feet away, and he was almost completely naked by the time Kurt let out a shaky cry of shock.

"What?" he asked, one finger hooked into his boxers, the rest of his clothes piled in a heap on the floor.

"You are leaving them on," Kurt demanded, forcing himself to look into Noah's face, which fell in mock disappointment.

"Dude!" he cried. "A guy needs some room to breathe, if you-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Noah Puckerman," Kurt snapped hysterically, backing away from the bed he had been about to climb into. "Don't you dare."

"Fine," Puck groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing back the duvet to leap onto the springy mattress. He waited patiently for a few seconds, and when it was clear Kurt had no intentions to join him he patted the cold side of the bed in encouragement. "Get in, sweetheart," he smiled sweetly.

"I would rather sleep in your garden than have you ever call me that again."

"Flower? Baby? My love?"

"Just Kurt is fine, thanks," Kurt drawled, slinking into the bed and pulling the covers over himself, keeping as close to the edge of the mattress as he could manage. Over the past few weeks he'd grown surprisingly comfortable with Noah, but not nearly comfortable enough for near-naked bed sharing, he was sure.

Puck clearly noticed this, but he didn't push the matter. He simply lay on his back, one arm resting on his chest, the other stretched out in Kurt's direction, as if inviting an embrace without asking for it.

Kurt could feel the footballer's body heat reaching him from across the miles of the mattress, but he wasn't brave enough to act on the impulse to approach, no matter how obvious it was that Puck expected (wanted?) it. He lay immobile, eyes closed and mouth tightly shut.

He could hear Noah's breath, and they lay in near silence to the sounds of Sarah going to bed.

"_Night Noh! Night Kurt!_" came muffled through the door, as if the addition was the most natural thing in the world. They both smiled privately to themselves at the girl's cry, and both mumbled a not-quite-loud _Goodnight! _in unison. Puck looked over at Kurt, amused, but Kurt looked decidedly away, eyes still closed and mouth clamping shut again.

He wasn't sure how long he lay like that, but at some point he felt the light tickle of Noah's fingers tracing his shoulder. Without meaning to, he shuffled a little closer to the boy, until his head was being cradled in Noah's hand, and if it didn't feel so natural he'd probably have blushed, humiliated at how much he liked the feeling.

As the minutes ticked past, according to the erratic clock on the cabinet, they slowly inched closer and closer, until Kurt could feel Noah's skin brushing lightly against him with every breath he took.

That was when they heard the car.

It seemed to screech to a halt, and Kurt flinched as it was soon followed by a violent banging on the door. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him, and Noah completed their embrace without warning, pulling Kurt flush against him. At the sound of two voices bellowing (one obviously Joanna Puckerman, the other quite clearly Burt Hummel) tears began to leak from Kurt's aching eyes, some trickling down his nose while others transferred blink by blink onto Noah's collarbone. Feeling the boy's tears, Noah pulled his arms even tighter around Kurt, pressing his lips to his forehead.

Kurt's toes curled and uncurled repeatedly. When Noah began to hum quietly he tried desperately to pull away.

"Noah, what are you-"

"Ssh," Noah insisted gently. "Don't ruin it."

Kurt listened as his father's voice reached him, the words he was roaring echoing in his ears _…my son!..._and he wasn't sure the situation could be any more ruined than it already was. But at Joanna's screeched, incoherent reply, he fell silent, pressing his face harder into Noah's chest, forgetting how very strange the closeness felt and simply welcoming the heat of a body next to his.

Noah's voice was barely above a whisper, but singing right into his ear it seemed loud enough to drown out even the argument below. They flinched in unison at every particularly loud noise, but he didn't stop singing, the fingers resting on Kurt's back tapping the tune he would have plucked tenderly had he had his guitar in his hands, and not a shivering boy.

Kurt was sure he recognised the song from somewhere, but he didn't bother trying to remember. He let the lyrics, and the melody, and the voice and the breath that joined each word, simply wash over him. He was asleep before it had finished, but Noah kept on a loop, not stopping until the shouting was silenced, and he heard the sound of a car driving away in the distance.

_Lay down  
>Your sweet and weary head<br>Night is falling  
>You have come to journey's end<br>Sleep now  
>And dream of the ones who came before<br>They are calling  
>From across the distant shore<em>

_Why do you weep?_  
><em>What are these tears upon your face?<em>  
><em>Soon you will see<em>  
><em>All of your fears will pass away<em>  
><em>Safe in my arms<em>  
><em>You're only sleeping<em>

_What can you see_  
><em>On the horizon?<em>  
><em>Why do the white gulls call?<em>  
><em>Across the sea<em>  
><em>A pale moon rises<em>  
><em>The ships have come to carry you home<em>

_And all will turn_  
><em>To silver glass<em>  
><em>A light on the water<em>  
><em>All souls pass<em>

_Hope fades_  
><em>Into the world of night<em>  
><em>Through shadows falling<em>  
><em>Out of memory and time<em>  
><em>Don't say: "We have come now to the end"<em>  
><em>White shores are calling<em>  
><em>You and I will meet again<em>

_And you'll be here in my arms_  
><em>Just sleeping<em>

_And all will turn_  
><em>To silver glass<em>  
><em>A light on the water<em>  
><em>Grey ships pass<em>  
><em>Into the West<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Chapters: Was supposed to be a oneshot, but will be a bit longer.**

**Lotta love to _Patricia Sage_, _BunnyBoo_, _DiDiGlee_, and _Angelwahalla and Spazwahalla_ for your sexy reviews.**

**I'm thinking about dedicating this story to three people:**

**-Myself, just because.**

**-My darling father, who can make as many mistakes as he likes, he'll always be my dad.**

**-And the wonderful reviewer _me and Mr. Jones_, because she's a beauty of a friend already, and has spurred me to write this story (and future ones) with even more dedication.**

**Please review, my pretty little things! It makes the colours of my rainbow even brighter =) -Kyle xxx**

(three)

Kurt had discovered that waking up in the arms of another boy felt even better than singing Defying Gravity at the top of his voice while throwing darts at a picture of Rachel Berry's face.

In fact, it felt so good, the two feelings didn't really compare at all.

He tried desperately to cling onto the happiness of his face pressed into the crook of a warm neck, because the alternative was to admit he was not lying in his own bed. He was not lying in his own bed because he had ran out of his house the night before. He had ran out of his house the night before because his father had admitted to an old friend what he couldn't admit to Kurt.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be brave enough to embrace that feeling of hurt again. He'd take locker checks from the jocks a hundred times over just to avoid feeling that way about his father, his _daddy_.

They hadn't shut the curtains before going to bed, and light streamed through slightly grubby windows, leaking between Kurt's eyelashes, bathing the room in a crisp, wintry glow. Opening his eyes just a little, Kurt was met by the sight of coppery skin covered in a light sweat. He felt obliged to be disgusted that his cheek was rubbing against another person's sweat, but he failed to conjure in himself even the remotest desire to move.

He had no idea whether or not Puck was still asleep. His arms were around the larger boy's waist, Puck's own encasing his torso and holding him close, and their legs were tangled with the sheets, which had been pulled to their waists.

"You awake?"

Kurt flinched at the noise, and Puck snorted gently with amusement. He'd been dozing in and out of consciousness for a while, finally brought out of his daze by the gentle tickle of Kurt's eyelashes. Kurt, it seemed, hadn't been aware he was no longer asleep.

"Yes," the smaller boy breathed, warm air sending an involuntary shiver down Puck's spine, and he coughed to try and mask the instinctive squirm.

Kurt closed his eyes again, shielding his mind from the day.

Because lying in Noah Puckerman's arms was surprisingly comfortable. But that comfort would only stay there for as long as they remained as they were. Once they moved, once they made eye contact, once they _acknowledged _their position, the awkwardness would no doubt swallow them both. Kurt wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

Not one bit.

"Noah?" he whispered, and though Puck's frame tensed at the name, he didn't protest as usual.

"Mm?"

"What am I going to do?"

He wanted to pretend he hadn't heard the question, but he couldn't do that to the lost little boy in his arms. Once upon a time he'd gone out of his way to hurt this boy, and yet now he found himself un able to refuse him a thing.

This hurt his head to think about.

"You're going to talk to your dad," he said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "And you're going to work things out."

A low whine preceded Kurt's reply. "I don't think I can."

"Well I do," Noah insisted stubbornly. "I know you're like, hurting and stuff, Kurt, but your dad is awesome. And he loves you, which is more than I can say for my old man. If Burt wants to make things right with you? Take that chance. Not everyone gets it. Not everyone gets to be told they're dad thinks they're worth the effort, you know."

His eyes were prickling, and he was relieved Kurt couldn't see his face.

Though it seemed Kurt was struggling, too, because another whimper keened in the base of his throat.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to…" Kurt faltered, usually so sure of himself, of his words; now at a loss. "I'm sorry, Noah."

"Don't be," Puck smiled his lips against the smaller boy's forehead. "Just…don't take it for granted, ok?"

"I'll try," Kurt promised. "I'm just so…scared." He was ashamed to confess such a thing, but he figured if Noah could hold him as he cried himself to sleep, he'd probably not be totally against him baring his soul to him, either. In any case, what did he have to lose by admitting his fears? They were written plain as day on his face, anyway.

"Hey," Noah sounded stern, similar to how he had spoken to Sarah the night before. He loosened his arms from their grip on Kurt, who shivered as the cold air reached where Puck's skin had kept him warm, and searched until he found Kurt's eyes, holding his gaze. "You're going to talk to your dad, ok? And everything will be cool again, ok?"

Kurt was pretty sure things would never be that simple, but he had always known that, for all Puck's caring, he was never going to be the brightest bulb in the box. "Ok," he agreed reluctantly.

"And then, once you're happy again," Noah continued with a smile, "You and I are going to watch a movie together, because we totally missed the best part of Fight Club last night. And Finn will _not _be there. We can distract him with Berry or something."

Kurt blinked at least three times before he found his voice, uncertain as it was.

"A…and why would we do that, Mr Puckerman?"

Noah looked ready to hit him impatiently, a playful spark in his eyes that completely contradicted his tender smile.

"Because if we don't, then I'll be forced to take you out on a _real _date to Breadstix, and I totally cannot afford to go there now I gave up my pool cleaning business."

Kurt didn't know whether to be overwhelmed with distaste at the thoughts of Noah's '_Pool Cleaning Business'_, or with confused adoration that somebody, albeit an ex-bully who still made a habit of trying to make him blush at every opportunity, wanted to take him on a date.

He wanted more than anything to look as deep into Noah's eyes as he could and agree, but he found he couldn't look any higher than the bump of the footballer's Adam's Apple.

"Hmmhmm," he hummed through tightly closed lips, and he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind whether or not blushes became permanent after a certain amount of time as the sound of Puck's chuckle stained his cheeks scarlet.

"What was that, Hummel?"

Kurt could _feel_ Noah's smirk.

"Okay."

According to the laws of romantic comedies, chick flicks, and Broadway stages, this was the moment in which Noah was supposed to sweep Kurt off his feet (metaphorically of course, given they were still lying horizontally on a bed) with an applaud-worthy, academy award winning, violin serenading kiss, and Kurt felt the ball of panic tighten in his lungs, his insides wriggling. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate.

At least, that was until Puck yawned, blasting him with a charming wave of morning breath, stretched his limbs wide and rolled right off the bed, leaving Kurt curled alone in the middle beneath a knotted duvet.

"Wha…" caught in the abandoned boy's throat, and he watched as Noah scratched his neck and quite obviously adjusted himself before throwing on a pair of old jeans and sauntering out of the room.

Kurt didn't move until Noah's voice, "_Breakfast in five! Might as well get this over and done with_," echoed from the stairs.

He closed his eyes, a silence similar to that of the night before filling him up, weighing down the feather-light happiness Noah had left behind.

_So it's your _duty_ to love him, that right?_ _You love him the way he is because you have to love him._

And then silence.

Kurt squeezed his closed eyes even tighter.

He didn't think he could bear to hear that silence again.

**DBDBDB**

It was almost midday when they arrived.

Kurt had faced many locations that had intimidated him in his life. Sue Sylvester's office. His grandfather's house, visiting the first time after he came out. High school. Middle school. The cemetery where his mother was buried. The hospital his mother had stayed in.

Never before had he been intimidated by his own home, though.

He stood in the drive way, just staring at the brick house, the windows and the door and the walls. He was hyper-aware of Noah Puckerman's hand encasing his, and it hurt to think that the role of his rock, his shield, his anchor, had been transferred from his father to the boy who used to wash him with slushies every day, no matter the change of heart that Noah had so apparently gone through.

"You ready?" Noah asked, and Kurt nodded, but neither boy made a move to approach the door.

They just stared.

For how long neither could be sure, but they didn't move until the front door was thrown open, revealing a haggard, sickly skinned Burt Hummel in the doorway.

He didn't take a step, or open his arms in a pleading embrace, or scream apologies to the heavens. He looked at his son, tired face expressionless but for his eyes, glazed with tears, and Noah had the courtesy to not pry as father and son stared in silent communication.

He could hear Kurt breathing hard, chest rising and falling in panic, and he squeezed the boy's fingers, just like he had comforted his mother after her last douchebag of a boyfriend had walked out, or consoled a newly out of labour Quinn, or shown his support for a grieving Finn at the ten year anniversary of his father's death.

"Kurt," Burt whispered into the soft wind that was blowing as he stepped aside, and the two boys walked forwards in unison. They noticed when Burt clocked their entwined fingers, and they both saw the internal conflict show on his face, upset at the sight but forcing himself to accept he was in no position to play the protective father.

Not yet, anyway.

The hallway felt different, Kurt noticed, and simultaneously it felt the same. The old photos hung on the wall, it still smelled of home, and it still looked like home, and it still sounded like home…but the memory of his last experience within the house's walls stopped it from _feeling _like home.

"Finn's at Rachel's," the older man announced, and it seemed Carole was still at her sister's house, because all was silent as they made their way to the kitchen.

They sat at the table, Kurt as far away from the seat his father's friend had been sat in the night before as he could manage, and Burt seated himself opposite him. Noah paused in the doorway, but when Kurt patted the seat next to him gently, bashful eyes on the table, he hastily joined his friend.

"Kurt-"

"Yes?" the boy said immediately, and he was surprised by how easily it was to meet his father's gaze. Because it was _supposed _to be easy between them. They were _supposed _to be comfortable together. They shared more than a house, after all.

"Last night…" Burt began, shaking his head and twisting his fingers on the table between them. He could see the battle in his son's eyes, showing the same love they had always shown, but it was no longer an _admiring _love; it was a wary love, and Burt found that hurt more than he could have imagined. "What I said last night. What you heard…"

He was interrupted, however, by three hard knocks on the door.

"I'll get it," Noah stood abruptly, his thighs hitting the table in his haste and knocking it back a few inches. He patted Kurt's shoulder awkwardly and threw Burt his best protective angry look, which he was proud to see brought a cautious frown to the man's face, and jogged to the door.

He opened the front door to an unexpected and most unwelcome sight.

He was met by a tall, thick frame, a squared head and beady green eyes that twinkled with a delight that could not be shared.

Vincent Mallory.

"Oh," the man sighed in disappointment. "You're back."

"Yeah," Puck snapped, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He wasn't quite as tall as the older man, but he wasn't all that far behind, and he figured he was badass enough to cause at least moderate intimidation, thanks to his guns and his mohawk. "We need to talk."

"Oh we do, do we?" Vincent looked amused by this.

"What are you doing here?"

The man rolled his eyes. "I went out to get some cigarettes," he replied with disdain, waving a grey packet in the boy's face. "Happy?"

"No," Noah growled. "You need to leave."

"I highly doubt you're in _any _position of power to tell me what to do, kid."

"So here's the deal," Noah ignored his accusation and took a step closer, his anger bolstering his confidence. "I'm dating your friend's son." Not exactly true, a voice in the back of his head muttered, but he'd never had a problem with lying before. "Does that bother you?"

Vincent glanced the teen up and down, eyebrows raised and lips pulling into a sneer. Noah's fists clenched by his sides, praying to the deities above that he didn't look so punch-worthy when he smirked down at people, the way this asshole did.

"I really think it does, actually…"

**DBDBDB**

Noah's departure left Kurt feeling very vulnerable.

He wasn't physically scared of his father, he didn't think he ever would be - words to violence was an incredibly large leap, after all - but that didn't lessen how very exposed he suddenly felt.

Burt was looking at him with the same expressive eyes that had helped him through his mother's funeral, had consoled him after his first day of slushy facials and dumpster dives, had congratulated him on getting into glee club, had accepted him for who he was after his football win…and if he froze everything out, put a blank slate over the night before, he knew he would feel so wrapped in love, so safe, he'd want nothing more than to embrace his father and never let go.

But he couldn't.

Blank slates and freezing out was the coward's ways, he knew that all too well. And in any case, it would take the poles of the north _and _the south to freeze out that cutting silence.

"Kurt," Burt began again. "Last night…" His son's eyes were shiny with tears not yet formed, and he felt his heart break all over again, as it had done when he heard that broken sob leave Kurt's lips as he ran out onto the street, away from him and his words.

"Last night," Kurt repeated in a light-yet-dark, full of meaning tone that Burt was sure Kurt's mother had genetically passed on to him.

Burt winced visibly, and he while every other time he would have done everything in his power to not show his baby boy how shattered he truly was, he knew revealing all would be the only way to win back Kurt's trust.

"I don't know how to make you understand…"

"Dad," Kurt leaned into the table. He knew his father was not a man of many words, and for all his tortured anger towards the man a small bubble of pity swelled amidst his twisting insides. "I don't…well, I _do_ care about what you said." He wasn't going to lie, and for once he was glad to see a pained expression on his father's face. "But we can talk about that after."

Burt paused. He couldn't understand where Kurt was taking this, and he licked his lips nervously, pressing into the edge of the table, wanting nothing more than to scoop his baby into his arms and promise to never make another mistake ever again, no matter how unrealistic such a promise was. "Then what…" he began, but his words were silenced by a tear dropping from Kurt's eye lashes to his cheek, glistening against pale skin.

"Why didn't you say anything, daddy?" The boy whispered, lips trembling and eyes blinking rapidly.

"I…Kurt…I…" Wasn't what he said the whole damn _point_?

"He said you…" Kurt ground his teeth together angrily. "He said you loved me because you _had _to. And you…" His gaze was diamond hard upon his father. "You didn't say _anything _to contradict him. You just…you just fucking _sat _there, basically telling him he was right by omission," Kurt stumbled over his breaths, daring to swear at his father in his betrayed fury. "Like you really do just love me because…because you _have _to."

Burt couldn't interrupt for the horror that swallowed the air in his lungs.

He had never before thought of himself as the self-hating type, but seeing his little boy sobbing into his hands, ashamed and hurt by something _he _had done, ripped a hole in him that he didn't realise could ever be taken from him; sick with himself, he let a gasp whistle in his throat.

And Kurt just kept crying.

"Kurt," the man cried loudly, scurrying around the table, and the tears finally began to trickle into his stubble when Kurt shied away from his attempted embrace. "Kurt, look at me," he pleaded, forcing himself not to try touch his son again, fearing another rejection.

Kurt, face in his palms, shook his head, body shaking. He looked so small.

"Kurt, I will _always _love you-"

"Apparently because you _have_-"

"No!" It was a lot harsher than he'd meant to sound, and Kurt flinched violently. "Kurt, when have I ever done things because I have to, huh?"

Kurt whimpered into his hands, pulling away from the hand tentatively placed on his shoulder.

"I love you because you are my son. You are a piece of me, you are a piece of your mother, and somehow between all that, you're still your own person. I am proud of you, Kurt. I admire you, I think the world of you, I would do _anything _for you. And I love you. You hear me?"

He wanted more than anything to pull Kurt's hands from his face, look into his eyes and see understanding there, forgiveness, to hug him as tight as he ever had done.

But he couldn't force this upon Kurt. Kurt was going to have to forgive him on his own terms, no matter how much it killed the older man to accept this…

They were interrupted again.

Shouting, definitely shouting. He'd been so focused on his son he hadn't thought to wonder where Puckerman had got to. But now there was shouting. Male and female voices merging, screeching and bellowing, hysterical, and even Kurt's sobs settled as they paused to listen.

Torn between what was obviously a fight outside and his shivering son, he huffed a quick _Stay here, son_, careful to say _son_ in as loving a voice as he could manage, and stormed towards the front door, throwing it open, ready to shout, but shock stole his words.

Noah Puckerman, his stepson's best friend, was in mid-wrestle with Vincent Mallory, one of his oldest friends, while his fiancée, Carole Hudson, danced around them, her car sitting with the door open in the driveway, trying her best to break them up.

With a constant stream of _hey-hey-hey-hey! _running off his lips Burt lunged forwards, grabbing Vinnie's elbow and heaving him off the teenager, who gasped as he was released from a headlock and threw an extra punch to the man's jaw before they were pulled too far apart by the wrathful host.

Out of the corner of his eye Burt saw Kurt rush past him out of the house to his friend, fussing over his bloody lip, and Noah gently batted the smaller boy's careful hands away, glaring at the two men several metres away. Carole remained in between them, taking in her fiancé's expression of rage, her stepson's tear-stricken cheeks and puffy eyes, looking well and truly lost.

"Burt, what on earth is going on here?" she demanded, hissing like a kicked cat. But Burt couldn't find the words to explain.

It took Kurt slipping out from Noah's grip around his shoulders and rushing to Carole to break the concrete silence.

The boy, deprived of a mother to run to for so long, pressed himself to Carole, technically not even his stepmother yet, arms wrapping around her as naturally as if she had always been there to hold him.

And it was this, Burt realised, that hurt the most. That in his fright Kurt would rather run to a woman with whom he has no blood relation than to him, his biological father. Kurt felt safer, happier, _better_, with this woman than with him. He didn't like the resentment that tasted sickly and bitter on his tongue, bubbling inside him, the feeling that Carole had stolen his son from him.

"Kurt?" Carole asked, maternal instincts kicking in as her arms wound around the boy, stroking his hair in a way only mothers get away with.

"I think it's time you got going, Vincent," Burt said coldly, channelling the anger of seeing his son in another parent's embrace into his words.

Vincent didn't have the cheek to look surprised. The man rolled his eyes, one hand pressed to his swollen eye, and clapped Burt on the back in a way that oozed sarcasm, just as he had done as a teenager, then strolled away without complaint.

"I'd say see you around, Hummel," he called over his shoulder as he clambered into his truck. "But I guess not."

"Too right you won't," Burt snapped darkly, fists clenched, and he found he was upset that a dumb, mohawked teenager managed to get in all the punches while he was stuck to words. Vincent had got him into this mess, and now…

No, he couldn't lie to himself. _He _had been the one to put himself in this mess. When he said the wrong words; when he didn't say the right ones.

"Burt, what's been going on? Where's Finn?" Carole looked more bemused than ever.

Noah was the one to oblige with a reply.

"Finn's at Rachel's house, Mrs H," he said coolly, approaching the woman and boy with care and gently pulling at Kurt's arm. The slender boy gave his stepmother a final squeeze, then allowed himself to be steered aside by his classmate.

"I think we should take this inside," Burt said uneasily, not sure how to gain control of the situation at hand, hating this feeling of sudden disempowerment.

"Good idea," Carole nodded brusquely, ushering all three of them inside with her womanly persuasion (something that Burt had learnt long ago, before his first marriage, even, was not to be underestimated.) "Let's get the kettle on," she announced once the front door was shut behind them.

She headed straight to the kitchen, but at Noah's voice she paused.

"I think I'll take Kurt to his room, is that okay? He's a bit…" Kurt blushed as three concerned pairs of eyes turned to him, and he looked at his shoes as he bit his lip.

Carole nodded sympathetically, waving a hand in the direction of Kurt's bedroom door without thought. Burt did not have chance to protest, because she presently took him by the hand to sit him in a seat. Kettle ignored, she sat opposite him and stared straight into his eyes, lips set sternly.

"So. What happened, Burt?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Major, major thank you! to _Angelwahalla and Spazwahalla_, _VirginiaGiver_, _me and Mr. Jones_, _Patricia Sage_, _Number1KurtHummelFan_, _GLEEKfreak101_, _patipatiti_, _becca579_, and _DiDiGlee_ for your sexy reviews! **

**In particular, thank you to the conversations of _me and Mr. Jones_ and _DiDiGlee_; you're both beautiful to talk to, my sweethearts! Anyone who has questions or just wants to chat, please message me =) Just a word of warning: our shitty laptop is going in for repairs Friday, so no updates from me or Sally until we get it back, which should be some time next week =D**

**PLEASE REVIEW! It adds more colours to be metaphorical rainbow of life =)**

**-Kyle **

**Over and out.**

(four)

"But you simply _must _know more, Finn!"

Finn loved Rachel. Truly. With all his heart. Just as he knew Rachel loved him.

But Rachel Berry, when in a focused frenzy, scared him - and he wasn't even ashamed to admit it.

She had been prancing about her room in a flurry of movement after listening to her boyfriend's tale of what had happened at the Hudson-Hummel residence the previous night. Excited fantasy was sparkling in her eyes, and Finn could just see her dreaming up a hundred scenarios to fill in the gaps of his story.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Finn sighed dejectedly from his awkward seat on the edge of her bed. "I was watching Fight Club. Puck went upstairs because Kurt hadn't come back down with snacks, and then next thing Burt's yelling Kurt's name, and Puck and Kurt were gone. Burt told me to run out after them, but I couldn't find one of my shoes because I'd taken them off because Kurt got really mad last time I walked mud on his floor and-"

"Skip forwards, Finn," Rachel encouraged with a smile, rolling her hands over each other in a gesture that told him to _speed the hell up_.

"And I couldn't find them. Burt drove off, and his friend was just kind of sat at the kitchen. Then Burt told me to get in the car, and he made me show him the way to Puck's house."

"And that was where Mr Hummel had the argument with Puck's mom?" Rachel clarified, tapping her chin dramatically as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

"Yeah, but I couldn't really make out what they were saying. Burt said Kurt was at Puck's house, and that he wanted Kurt out, and Mrs P told him no. I think Burt might have been crying, but he looked like he was trying to hide that, so I didn't mention it."

"That was very good of you, Finn," Rachel said proudly as she sat beside her boyfriend, taking one of his hands in hers and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles soothingly. It was a very _caring_-Rachel thing to do, but Finn could still see a shadow of _scary_-Rachel in her eyes as she looked at him. "Then Mr Hummel took you home?"

"Yeah, he didn't want to but it looked like Mrs P managed to calm him down. Then I was watching television in Kurt's room and I think Burt had an argument with his friend. In the morning Burt told me I should maybe stay out of the house while things got sorted out. I didn't really get what he meant, but he looked real sad, like he wanted to be alone." Finn's lips twisted around his words. It had hurt that the man who was practically a father to him hadn't confided in him the truth of what was going on, but he both liked and respected Burt, so he tried to tell himself he must have had an excellent reason for doing so.

"And Mr Hummel's friend?"

"I think he slept in the spare room. Burt didn't look too happy with him this morning. When I left he was talking about leaving. I guess he's gone by now." The boy shrugged, and Rachel's imagination danced into action as she considered all possibilities.

"I wonder what happened, then…"

"I know!" Finn cried, his fists balling in frustration. He'd thought things were cool between him and Kurt. So why did Kurt have to run off with Puck? "I mean, I know Kurt gets upset over, like, the tiniest things ever. Like his clothes, and his hair, and if I eat my food too quickly, but he's never, you know, run away or anything. And running away from Burt? That makes no sense. Burt's totally cool. And he _always_ protects Kurt."

Rachel didn't miss the unusually knowledgeable way Finn announced Burt Hummel's protectiveness of his son, but she decided that now was not the time to question her boyfriend's newfound wisdom.

"Do you think Burt said something to him? Kurt is very sensitive, and although I'm sure Mr Hummel is a wonderful father, children, particularly ones who feel as easily threatened as Kurt often does, may be very insecure about parental relationships." Speaking in her best psychiatrist, patronising _wise _voice, Rachel nodded solemnly at her own words. Finn's brow creased as he tried to make sense of what she was saying.

"What, you think Burt called him a…or said something? About _Kurt_? No way. Burt loves Kurt, he's always…you know…_accepted_ Kurt." His ears tinged pink at this observation, trying not to remember how very different his acceptance process had been compared to his almost-stepfather's.

"All the same, every human is capable of making mistakes. Maybe I should talk to my two gay dads?" Rachel cried in a eureka tone, standing suddenly with her eyes on her slightly open door. "They both have lots of experience dealing with mean and hurtful things being said to them. If anyone can advise Kurt - or Burt, for that matter! - it's them."

She looked ready to race out of the door and down to the kitchen to her Papa, who was busy cooking them all an appropriately kosher meal for lunch.

Finn grabbed her wrist before she could move, pulling her back to the bed.

"No, I don't think that's such a great idea. Kurt hates people giving him advice even more than Burt hates it. I think, whatever it is, they want to figure this out together."

"And Puck?" Rachel asked thoughtfully. Here Finn was at a loss, and he shrugged silently to show her this. "I mean, Noah and Kurt have certainly being growing closer -" she pondered aloud.

"What?" Finn frowned, mouth agape.

"You must have noticed, Finn," Rachel waved his confusion aside with a flapping hand. "Don't you remember when Noah got back from juvie?"

Finn nodded. Though he'd sworn to keep his distance from the mohawked boy after Quinn's pregnancy scandal, he'd found himself unable to ignore the slimmer, quieter, dejected Noah Puckerman that had come back from juvie. It had reminded him of the little Noah who had cried on his best friend's shoulder the day after his dad walked out on his family, and a protective brotherly feeling that Finn had been sure Puck's betrayal the year before had wiped away urged him to re-forge their friendship.

And then there was Kurt, who seemed to alternate between super quiet and super bitchy in mood swings that rivalled Quinn and Rachel combined.

He thought back to Puck's first week back at school, the unusually low profile, the meekness…and yes, now he thought about it, he had seen his best friend talking to Kurt quite a few times. And then there had been all those glee rehearsals sitting next to each other. And the lunches with Artie and Mercedes. And even last night, before _it _(whatever 'it' was) happened, Puck had been lying on Kurt's bed…just like every other night of hanging out they'd had over the past few weeks.

Finn's lips trembled a little before parting in a silent question that he couldn't quite form. Instead, he decided to stick to single syllables.

"Yeah…I do…"

"They have certainly grown very close. Perhaps he will be able to help. Maybe we should call him?"

A frown pulled at Finn's brow. "Umm," he hummed, but before he could reply he was cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He sighed in relief, glad to have an excuse to look away from Rachel's intimidating stare. "Mom?" he asked into the speaker, glancing quickly at the caller ID.

"_Sweetie_," Carle Hudson said in a thick voice. "_Where are you? Are you still at Rachel's?_"

"Er, yeah," he said, eyes flitting to the brunette, who had scurried to sit by his side the moment he answered the call. "What's up?"

He heard his mother sigh deeply. "_Nothing, sweetheart. Will you be home for dinner_?"

"If…you…want me to be?" he asked slowly, trying to work out whether or not that was what his mother wanted.

"_Great_," Carole replied, and Finn's face relaxed into a smile. By the sounds of it, he'd made the right call. "_That's great. I'm cooking steak pie, is that ok?_"

"Sounds awesome, mom," Finn grinned. He loved it when his mother cooked - Kurt was good, but a bit too much on the healthy side sometimes. At that thought, he paused. "Umm, mom?" he asked hesitantly.

"_Yes_?"

"Is…is Kurt there?"

Another sigh, this one quieter, and he realised he was probably not supposed to hear that one.

"_Yes, sweetheart, he is. He and Noah are here. Did you…did you want to speak to him?"_

"No," he replied instantly, and he winced when Rachel, who was quite clearly listening in, slapped his thigh impatiently. "I mean, that's ok. I can call him in a bit."

Rachel smiled encouragingly in approval.

"_Ok, I'll see you later, Finn. Say hello to Rachel for me. I love you._"

"Will do. Love you," Finn dismissed, snapping his phone shut.

There was a brief silence between the boyfriend and girlfriend, before Rachel broke it with a surprisingly timid voice.

"Finn," she said commandingly. "It's time to call Kurt."

**DBDBDB**

His phone was ringing.

Neither boy attempted to answer it. They just let it ring.

Kurt had been cleaning Noah's face in the en-suite when they heard the quiet, muffled sound of crying from above, and somehow they had ended up huddled in the bathtub.

His phone was ringing.

It was somewhere in his pocket, but he couldn't bring himself to answer it.

Noah was slumped beneath him, his back curled to fit into the bath at a diagonal angle, and Kurt had managed to nestle on his chest, a damp, slightly bloody cloth still in his hand from mopping Noah's face. His phone was somewhere in his pocket, but he was comfortable and warm, soon he would have to get up and talk to his father…

He didn't want that quite yet. He wanted to cuddle a bit longer, despite the cramp in his leg and the genuine concerns of crushing the boy beneath him.

His phone was ringing, and Noah answered it.

A squeak slipped between Kurt's lips when Noah's hand slid awkwardly into his pocket, dangerously close to his groin, but soon it was out again, vibrating phone in hand, Lady Gaga blaring out of the speaker, and Noah's voice was comforting in his half-sleep state.

"'Lo?"

Noah didn't feel like he was invading privacy, so much as helping Kurt out. He knew the boy didn't want to answer the phone, particularly when he saw who it was.

Finn.

But it wasn't Finn's voice who replied to his half formed greeting, it was a voice much harder to stop, and much scarier.

"_Kurt? That's not Kurt. Noah? Is that you, Noah? Why do you have Kurt's phone? Is he ok? Are you home? Noah? Where's Kurt?_"

Rachel Berry. Just what he needed.

"No, it's not Kurt. Yeah, it's Puck. I have Kurt's phone because he's asleep. Yeah, we're home," he drawled his list monotonously, trying his best not to jostle the boy resting on his chest, nor talk loud enough to disturb Kurt from his almost-doze.

"_What's going on, Noah? Is Kurt ok? Why did you leave last night? Are you sure Kurt's ok? Finn and I have been very worried. Haven't we, Finn?_" The mumble of Finn's abashed agreement caused Noah's lips to twitch into a smile. Apparently Finn wasn't entirely up for the idea of calling Kurt, but Rachel was clearly desperate.

What a surprise.

"Rach-Rach-Rachel!" Noah stammered, humming her name. "Calm down," he pleaded, for the sake of his eardrums if nothing else. "Kurt's fine, he's sleeping. There was just a bit of an argument and a misunderstanding. We'll talk to Finn when he gets home. Ok?"

"_Noah, Kurt's my best friend, I insist…_"

Rachel continued, relentless.

"Rachel, I-"

"_…speak with him. He can explain everything…_"

"Rachel!"

"_…sure we'll understand. It can't be…_"

"Rachel, I'm putting the phone down."

_Beep._

Noah sighed in relief, audible in the closely walled bathroom, and he both felt and heard a snuffled laugh as Kurt sniggered sadly, a fond smile trembling his lips.

They waited in silence, and may very well have fallen to sleep if it wasn't for Kurt's loud exhalation of tragic volume after a minute or so.

"I have to go upstairs, don't I?" he asked quietly to the emptiness.

Of course he did. They both knew it. But Noah couldn't bring himself to voice this quite obvious reasoning. So he lied. Because sometimes, he knew, you just _need _to be lied to.

"No," he murmured softly, his fingers pressing into Kurt's sides. "Of course you don't."

**DBDBDB**

He felt like a schoolboy waiting to be admonished by the head-teacher for picking on a classmate.

Only this was much worse. Because he was a father, not a schoolboy. And Kurt was not a classmate - he was his _son._ And it wasn't an authoritative figure of educatory status; this was Carole, his _fiancée_.

Carole was staring at him with a dry mouth and wet eyes.

She still hadn't put the kettle on, which turned out to be a good thing, because it would have only been forgotten about.

Burt and Kurt, such polar opposites at times, were identical when they cried, she realised with a squeeze of her loving heart. Their faces splotchy red, particularly on their cheeks below their eyes. They blinked the same way, as if trying to hide the weakness of their working tear ducts, and they pursed their lips the same way, teeth worrying the skin. They held their breath the same way, in shudders and gasps, and they swallowed and gulped at air with the same grimace of shame.

So different, and yet still so obviously father and son.

And it broke her heart to find herself stuck in this position.

"Burt," she sighed quietly, and her fiancé's shoulders began to shake. He nodded, pressing his clenched fists into the sockets of his eyes.

"I just need to talk to him."

"Yes," she said honestly. "You really need to talk to him."

Burt steeled his nerves and looked up to meet Carole's eyes, seeing only kindness in her non-smile. Somehow, that seemed to make it worse.

"D'you know what was the last thing Kurt's mom said to me before she died?"

They rarely talked about their dead spouses, and only then they preferred to keep it as a general reference. Perhaps it was to preserve their love for those other than each other, like glass ready to shatter if handled with anything more than the lightest, quietest touch. But this was an exception, and Carole wasn't exactly surprised. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, to let her fiancé know she was listening with her heart open.

"Kurt was mad at me," Burt explained uneasily. "He had the flu, and I was staying at home to look after him because Ellie had to go to work. It was easier for me to get one of the guys to cover for me than for the school to get a substitute in at such short notice. He wanted her to stay, because whenever it was the two of them, they'd watch musicals and stuff. I was…you know, I was just never into that stuff. Every time he asked, I'd always try nudge him to watch something else. I'd always give in and watch what he wanted, but not without…you know, trying, first."

Burt frowned at his hands, squeezing his fingers together, stubby nails gouging imprints into the skin .

"Before she left for work, Ellie picked out Kurt's favourites and told me to start with that Jewish one. Yenyull? Something like that. Anyhow, she knew I didn't like it. She was in a rush, and she was mad, and Kurt was crying because he wanted his mom, not me. She could tell I would try and get Kurt to watch something else before I put the musical on. I tried to pretend…but it didn't work. She knew. She told me it was selfish and small-minded of me to care about what my son was watching on a tv screen.

"We only really talked about the musical-watching. But it was more than that. We were talking about Kurt, and who he'd grow up to be. We just didn't say it in so many words."

Burt grimaced, his teeth picking at a dry patch on his lower lip as he shivered, and it was a miracle the cracked voice that broke from his lips like a leaking dam could speak coherently at all.

"She told me she loved me, but when I said things like _that_, it made her…_ashamed_."

Carole couldn't hold it in any longer, She reached across the table to grab Burt's hands before he could use them to roughly wipe his tears away, humming comfort that couldn't be truly worded.

"She left angry, and I don't know, maybe that made her careless. Made her fall off the road. I don't know. But ever since then…I was always so god damn careful about how I treated Kurt. It used to be an effort, but then, when Kurt was about eleven…it just came naturally. I stopped…_thinking _those things. I _got _what Ellie had been trying to tell me. And I have _no idea_ what made me say those things last night.

"Vinnie…_Vincent_, he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing. And…god, Carole, he's never going to forgive me."

"Hey," Carole said firmly, rushing around to sit beside her fiancé without letting go of his hands. "Kurt will forgive you, you hear me? Kurt _wants _to forgive you, I know he does. He just doesn't know how. Jesus, Burt. It's not even been twenty-four hours yet! You need to let him cool off. _You _need to cool off. Noah _definitely _needs to cool off. I love that boy like my own, but it'd be a lie to say he's good at controlling that temper of his."

It wasn't exactly a joke, or even particularly funny, but it pulled the weakest of smiles only Burt's heartbroken face.

"He's a good kid, that punk," he muttered, scooting closer to Carole to nestle against her shoulder.

"I'm glad you like him," as the mood lightened just a little, Carole couldn't keep the hint of amusement out of her tone.

"You are?" Burt asked suspiciously, sniffing and letting go of the woman's hands to snatch a couple of tissues from the box beside him and wipe his face.

There was a tender affection in Carole's eyes that Burt couldn't quite work out - was it directed at him? At Noah? Or perhaps something entirely new…

"Well, it would probably speed along the forgiveness process with Kurt if you liked Noah."

The right corner of her lips twitched, and there was a playful sparkle in her tearful eyes that Burt did not quite trust.

"Carole," he cleared his throat in discomfort, forcing himself not to start worrying about the thought of his son, his little _boy_, being downstairs alone with Noah Puckerman, the self-proclaimed and unabashed sex shark (Burt cringed mentally, thinking ahead ten years, when Puck would no doubt regret embarrassing himself with such a title.) "Puck's not…he's not…Puck doesn't like…Puck's…what?"

Carole sighed with a gentle smile, reaching up to tweak Burt's nose, tipped red from crying, and kiss his forehead lightly before speaking softly against his brow.

"Let's just say Kurt isn't the only boy currently at McKinley to have had a crush on my son at some point."

Burt leaned away, looking horrified - not at the thought of homosexual attraction, he justified in his head, but at…something he couldn't quite decide.

"Granted, they were about six at the time," Carole's laugh was light and lovely, but Burt couldn't quite appreciate this given the revelation at hand. "But it still counts. His mother and I found it very funny - Noah's dad probably wouldn't have been impressed, but he left a couple of years later, so it never really mattered. Of course, he's still the ladies man; that poor Quinn girl had him wrapped around her finger for a long time… But I do still remember there was the time Noah started building up his muscles. He was complaining a boy at school had better abs than him, and he wanted to keep up. To be honest, though? I'm pretty sure he just used it as an excuse. Mike! That was his name, lovely boy. He and Finn used to do science projects together in middle school."

Burt stared dumbfounded at his fiancée, unsure what to say.

"And you never said this before?" he croaked.

"I'm sorry," Carole drawled with a sarcastic wink. "I guess the sexuality of my son's, your almost stepson's, best friend just never came up in conversation before."

Even Burt had to smile at this, but with it came a trickling of a salty tear from the corner of his eye, where it had clung steadfast to his eyelashes.

"Oh no," he groaned, releasing Carole's fingers from his grip again to rub his cheeks, as if exhausted.

"What now?"

"My kid's going to start dating a motorcycle riding, football playing, hard-on-the-outside punk, isn't he?"

"I guess he really is his mother's son, then," Carole replied softly. It was the closest she'd probably ever gotten to saying Elizabeth's name before, and for a brief moment Burt froze, but then a hollow laugh resounded in his chest.

"Guess so," he began. "Though the motorcycle thing was only for a couple of months."

Carole grinned. "Yes, well, Noah only kept his for a short while, too."

They shared a quiet laugh, regretful and relieved.

"Thanks, Carole," But interrupted abruptly before she could explain exactly why Noah Puckerman had been forced to get rid of his bike after a short-lived three months of joy.

"For what?" she asked delicately, though she had a pretty good feeling she knew the answer.

Burt took one of her hands in both of his, brought it up to his lips, and kissed her knuckles tenderly. "Just thank you," he replied.

She blushed crimson, standing up suddenly and brushing away imaginary dust.

"I should call Finn," she hummed, casting her eyes around the room in search of her phone. Moving herself to the living room, still searching, Carole smiled encouragingly at the man at the table for a few seconds, and then left him to his thoughts.

Burt inhaled and exhaled as if it was taking all his energy to remember how to breathe properly. He could hear Carole talking quietly on the phone, sniffling as she conversed with her own son.

He knew he could try and focus on Carole's startling, and quite frankly disconcerting, revelation about Noah Puckerman, particularly given the innocence of his son was most likely now at stake, but that would be avoiding the real problem at hand. He was an expert at that - if there was one thing Kurt Hummel had inherited directly from his father's deep gene pool, it was aversion and deflection - and he mentally admonished himself, certainly not for the first or last time that day.

But try as he might, he just couldn't think of a way to bring Kurt back to him.

This was beyond the help of Walt Disney, Barbra Streisand, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Then again, perhaps Kurt would be so impressed he could even _remember_ those names…

No, it just wouldn't do. He couldn't rely on how easily Kurt could be won over with the perfect mixture of Hollywood and Broadway. That would be taking advantage of his son, and he would never forgive himself for doing that. Probably a lot like how he was sure he'd never forgive himself for causing Kurt doubts as to exactly why he loved him…obligation or sincerity.

Just thinking about it broke his heart all over again.

But he couldn't cry anymore. He was Burt Hummel.

He was going to own up to his mistakes: confront them. And that was that.

Brusquely he stood up from the table, marching into the living room in time to see Carole slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Finn'll be home for dinner," she said calmly. "I promised him steak pie. I'll make sure it's healthy."

Burt smiled gratefully. Carole Hudson-soon-to-be-Hummel: a beautiful woman of perpetual strength, if ever there was one.

"I'm going downstairs."

It seemed Carole approved, because she nodded with a heartening smile on her lips.

She didn't reply, though, and he turned on her heel without asking for one. He felt her eyes follow him as he walked across the room, opened the door to the basement, and closed it behind him.

He could hear talking coming from the open bathroom door, and for one panicked moment Burt wondered exactly what those two boys were getting up to in the _bathroom_, but he paused halfway down the stairs, listening.

It was Noah's voice, talking to…_"Rach-Rach-Rachel!_"

On the phone, Burt assumed, and he sighed, grunting under his breath as he dropped to sit on the stairs and wait.

As a child he'd loved sitting on the stairs. He'd driven his parents insane, falling asleep there all the time, waking up with a yelp when they tripped over him on their way up or down. But he never changed the habit.

It had been years since he'd sat on a flight of stairs, and he relished the simple memories of being ten years old that were conjured. But not for long.

The voices stopped not long after, and there was silence for a very long time.

Burt took the opportunity to look around his son's bedroom.

The far wall held the closed, extended wardrobe, the doors of which were plastered with pictures cut out from magazines. The largest wall, which the head of the bed was pressed up against, was off-white in colour and mostly covered in posters of various musicals on one half, while the other was patterned with an ever growing collage of photos. He couldn't really see many of the faces staring out from the wall, but he could just about make out a photo of three year old Kurt in Burt's arms, taped right next to a posed photo of Kurt and Mercedes at the mall for Kurt's last birthday.

He stared at three year old Kurt, who wasn't looking at the camera, but instead at his father. There was no mistaking the admiring love in the boy's eyes as he regarded the man whose protective embrace held him close.

And for some reason the sight of the photo gave Burt a sense of hope. That maybe, just maybe, over time, Kurt would be able to look at him like that again.

Burt was starting to get worried by the time he heard movement again from the en-suite of his son's bedroom.

He didn't stand, but instead waited, listening intently. He distinctly heard Puckerman snort with laughter, but he couldn't hear Kurt, and he sat up a little straighter, straining to hear his son's voice as Noah mumbled, so quiet it was barely a hum of vibrations.

And then Noah Puckerman flicked the door of the bathroom all the way open with his foot and walked into the bedroom, Kurt Hummel curled tightly, bridal style, in his arms.

"There you go," the mohawked boy sighed, dropping Kurt onto the bed, not entirely gently, but Kurt didn't seem to mind. He hummed a sleepy thank you and reached over to cocoon himself into his duck-down duvet.

Noah spent possibly a little _too_ long making sure Kurt was comfortable, for Burt's liking, but he waited until he was noticed before saying anything.

Noah patted Kurt's shoulder, and was internally debating whether or not he should stay with the smaller boy when he looked up to see Burt Hummel watching him. He flinched violently, the hand on Kurt's shoulder whipping behind his back swiftly.

Burt stood up, eyes never leaving the boy, and walked down the last few stairs, too distracted to enjoy the confused expression on Noah's face, somewhere between terror and anger.

"Kid," Burt began with a nod.

"Sir," Noah mumbled. He might have been upset, but he wasn't going to be rude. This was still Kurt's _dad_, after all.

They endured the inevitable awkward pause that followed, in which the only sound was the breaths of the only one in the room who was still blissfully unaware of how stiflingly uncomfortable the atmosphere had grown. Kurt's face was pressed into a pillow, and both man and teen fought the urge to glance over at him.

"You're a good kid, Noah Puckerman," Burt acknowledged.

Common courtesy demanded Noah reply with similar sentiments, or at least a thank you, but they lodged in his throat.

"Huh," he coughed instead.

"Please thank your mom for last night," Burt's voice was calm and collected, his eyes boring deeply into Noah's. The only sign of his inner turmoil was the twitching of one index finger tapping his leg nervously.

"She was happy to do it," Noah explained. "She, uh, really likes Kurt."

Burt looked lost at this, but he soon recovered. The calm remained unbroken.

"Yeah, well, thank her anyway. And thank _you_," he said insistently. "For being there for Kurt."

They couldn't quite manage to address exactly _why_ Kurt had needed someone to be there for him, but it was plain in both their expressions, and it hung poisonously in the air.

"Umm, Mr Hum…Burt?" Noah changed tack, remembering Burt's dislike of the formal title.

"Yes?"

"Kurt's…he's really cut up," they both winced, but Noah pressed on before Burt could decide he was being too impertinent and stopped him, "But he really wants to talk to you. I think."

Burt seemed to appreciate this, because the creases around his eyes softened, the final remnants of an old frown smoothing from his face into a tender pain that Noah gritted his teeth at.

He couldn't remember his own father _ever_ having such an expression of love on his face.

"I want to talk to him, too," Burt admitted in an honest voice.

The silence was a little less awkward, this time. More understanding, more comfortable. Not quite there yet, but closer.

"I guess I'd better go," Noah muttered, shooting a glance at Kurt before heading towards the stairs behind Burt.

Burt stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. They were of equal height, but Noah seemed to shrink at the disturbingly _knowing_ look in the older man's eyes as he regarded him at close range.

"Yes, sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Maybe I'm a hypocrite for saying this," Burt said. "But don't break my kid's heart, ok?"

Of his many options to respond with, Noah decided a fearful nod before dashing away, blushing furiously, was better than fainting in front of Mr Hummel, so he took the opportunity and all but _ran_.

He jogged hastily up the stairs and into the living room to see Carole on the phone to one of her friends. She pressed the speaker to her hand briefly.

"Going, Noah?" she asked quietly.

"Did you- what do you - are you - what have I -" Noah stumbled over his breath and his words.

His confusion didn't exactly make sense to himself, but Carole seemed to understand. Her face split into a wide smile.

"I'll see you soon, Noah," she said in a final tone similar to the way Burt had looked at him only moments before.

Noah was out of the front door before he had chance to die of humiliation, wondering exactly how long Carole, another mother to him, had known.

He didn't even think about his own mother until he was back in his own house, and she was asking him when he would be seeing Kurt again. It upset him that she didn't appear at all surprised by his blush.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**I'm so sorry about not updating in so long! I had some bad family troubles which sort of made me not want to write anything too family-based for a while. But it's getting resolved now, sort of, so I'm back! This was supposed to be twice as long, but I thought…well, I've made you wait long enough, so I'll post the rest in the next chapter. Unfortunately this is now a bit of a filler in the end. We'll go back to Puck and Kurt at the beginning of the next chapter, to follow what happens there =)**

**Thank you all so much for your sexy reviews. You're all babes! And thanks to my three flatmates, who are the best people in the whole wide world. Please review with your thoughts! =)**

**-Kyle**

**Over and out.**

(five)

"Kurt, sweetheart," Carole tapped on the door that led to the basement with her fingertips. The gentle hum of the music Kurt was playing dimmed abruptly, and there was a shuffling followed by stubborn silence. "Dinner's ready, sweetheart," she said in a resigned tone. "Come up when you're ready to eat something."

Trying not to let the sting of rejection get to her - she knew it wasn't directed at her, anyway - Carole turned away from the door to see Burt stood, watching. She shrugged sadly, a weak smile on her face, and she squeezed her fiancé's shoulder as she walked past.

Burt tried to reciprocate some gesture of encouragement for Carole, but he was focused too sternly upon the door behind which his son was sitting. Alone.

Mustering up what little courage was still buried inside him, Burt reached forwards and grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly. He breathed a sharp sigh of relief to see it hadn't been locked, and gave the door a gentle push open.

He stared into the room, peering around with the paranoia of a man in the firm knowledge his presence was not wanted, and after a moment his eyes came to rest on his son.

Kurt was sitting on his pillows, his back against the headboard of his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him. His hands were loosely clasped in his lap, and he was staring at his interlaced fingers with hard eyes that made Burt's fists clench at his sides.

"Kurt?" he asked, to no response. "Kurt, Carole's made some-"

"I'm not hungry," Kurt's voice was as hard as his glare, which flicked briefly up to his father and back down again. Burt's resolve steeled.

"Kurt, you need to eat something. Please?"

From Kurt's lips there burst a sharp laugh, so out of character it made Burt wince. "Oh I'm sorry, _dad_," Kurt snapped. "I guess what with finding out my wonderful, loving father is secretly ashamed of having a fag for a son, my appetite just vanished."

"Don't you use that word in my house, boy," Burt jabbed the air with his finger, pointing at his son and glowering. Kurt flinched as Burt reached the bottom of the steps in three strides.

"Why, dad?" Kurt shouted back, leaping off his bed and throwing his arms outwards defensively. "You said everything _but 'that word_' last night, didn't you?"

Burt wanted to bellow a commanding reply, demand some respect or tell his son to at least stop shouting. But he knew that if ever Kurt Hummel had a reason to shout himself hoarse at his father, it was now.

"So forgive me if I don't feel like spending much time in your company, _daddy_. I'm just too damn busy adjusting to the news you're ashamed of my existence."

"That's not fair, Kurt, I am not- I could never be-"

"Not fair?" Kurt shrieked, looking scandalised. "Not _fair_? How _dare _you!

"No, dad. What's not fair is that you never had the guts to say all that to my face. Do you know how much harder it is to think of you lying to me all this time?" Kurt's breaths stuttered between his words, and he took a step deeper into the room, further from his father. "It would have been better if you'd just pushed me away from the start. But having me think you didn't care, all this time, only for me to find out how much you hate what I am? _Who _I am? That's the worst part of all."

Burt opened his mouth to reply, but he realised as his lips parted that he didn't have a response to give. Because although Kurt was wrong - he would never be ashamed of his son - he could not deny that from his words last night, Burt Hummel could come across as nothing more than a two-faced man incapable of loving his son with all his heart.

However wrong that image of him was.

"Kurt," he whispered, and his mumble was met with badly suppressed sobs that shook him to the core. "Do you really believe I don't love you more than…than anything in this world? Kurt, look at me-"

But Kurt couldn't. His eyes, shining green with tears, had dropped to the floor, and he'd bent his shaking knees to sit on his heels, hands pressing to his lips as his entire frame trembled.

"Hey, Kurt," Burt insisted.

The seed of courage that had allowed him to open the door of his son's bedroom pushed Burt forwards, until he was kneeling in front of the boy. He wrapped one hand around Kurt's wrist, and the other threaded fingers through Kurt's hair - it was a mark of Kurt's hysteria that he didn't complain about messing it up. Instead the teen simply closed his eyes, unable to resist pushing his head against the stroking of his father's hand. Because despite the great chasm between them, there would never be anything more comforting to Kurt than his father's warm presence.

"Huh, kiddo?" Burt shifted his legs beneath him until he was sat fully on the floor. Kurt peered between his fingers at his father. He whimpered into his palms, before allowing himself to be tugged into a fierce embrace.

"_Daddy_," he whimpered into Burt's flannel shirt, grasping at its hem, and Burt pressed his face into his boy's hair, subconsciously comparing it to that of Kurt's mother's: chestnutty and fine. "I just…" Kurt yelped between breaths, "I just _don't understand_."

The memories hit Burt like a tidal wave, making his arms wrap tighter around his son - his little boy - holding him as close as he could. Twice in his life Kurt Hummel had said that to his father, in such tones of despair and grief. The first as a small child, clutching his hand as they stared together at the freshest grave in the cemetery, eyes raking over the marble headstone beneath which Elizabeth Hummel had been laid to rest. The second as a young teen, crying into his pillow after relating to his father the humiliation of being thrown headfirst into a dumpster on his first day of high school.

And now.

Burt didn't think it was possible to love his son more than he did in that moment.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Burt whispered into his son's hair. "I am so sorry for this."

Kurt murmured something that Burt couldn't quite catch, and he leaned away slightly. "What was that, kiddo?"

Kurt's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he looked to be swallowing his cries, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Nothing cheap as words," he croaked bitterly.

Burt successfully fought the urge to snap an angry reply, knowing it was coming from a place of hurt, ultimately. Anger was going to get them nowhere.

"What else do you want me to say, Kurt?" he asked, wincing as he realised how defensive the question sounded when spoken out loud.

"I don't know! I don't _care_!" Kurt growled. And suddenly he was wrestling his way out of his father's arms, leaping to his feet as a blush of embarrassment and fury stained its way up his neck until it was flushing his cheeks crimson. "Just…I need to go."

"What? Kurt, no, we can…come on, Kurt," Burt scrambled to his feet, but Kurt was already at the top of the stairs.

He paused at the door, turning back to look down at his father with shiny eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before dashing out of the door.

**DBDBDB  
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"I just don't get what's going on," Finn snapped in exasperation. He could hear Puck's equally frustrated breaths crackling through the speaker of his phone.

"_Dude, just go make sure Kurt's ok. Alright?"_

"What happened, Puck?" Finn demanded.

It was no lie that Finn was worried about his soon to be stepbrother, but Puck's obsessing was just plain weird. And it made no sense at all.

"_Please, Finn_," Puck huffed, and the quarterback was impressed, because Puck _never _said please. He must have really meant it, then. "_Just do it, ok?_"

"Just..." Finn stalled, tapping his foot nervously on the floor. "Why do you care so much, Puck? I mean, I get you are Kurt are friends, but why would you-"

_"Doesn't matter_," Puck interrupted, sounding nervous. "_Thanks, Finn_."

"You're welcome," Finn said slowly, frowning at his bedroom door as he mentally prepared to open it, walk down the stairs, and hammer on Kurt's own bedroom door until he opened it. "And Puck?"

Puck sighed gruffly. _"What?_"

"I know we don't really talk that much any more…or maybe we never really did, but…if you ever wanted to talk, I'm here, you know? You're my best friend. And in a totally non-gay way, I care about you."

The noise that issued from Puck was somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "_Nothing gay about caring, dude_," he said, and Finn was pleased to hear something of a smile in his best friend's voice. "_Thanks…same goes for you, Hudson. And I kind of do want to talk to you_."

"Yeah?" Finn bounced once eagerly, gripping his phone tighter.

"_Yeah_," Puck repeated quietly. "_Just not right now, ok? I'll talk to you soon. I promise_."

"Mmkay." Finn decided now was not the time to be pushing Puck. He had am almost stepbrother to take of, after all. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?"

"_You will_," Puck finished, and with a hasty goodbye that Finn barely had time to reply to, he ended the call.

Before he could start over-analysing his conversation with his best friend - which had definitely confused him somewhat - Finn left his room and jogged down the landing.

He was half way down the stairs when he saw a lithe figure with brown hair and a pale complexion dash into the hallway, swing open the front door and rush out of the house. "Hey!" he called, stumbled down the last few steps and nearly running face first into the door in his haste.

By the time he reached the driveway, Kurt was in his Navigator and pulling out into the street.

"Kurt!" Finn shouted, but the smaller boy hadn't heard him.

Not for the first time Finn damned his lack of a driver's license, along with every civil servant that ever crossed the road when people were trying to learn to drive. He stood idly for a few seconds, genuinely considering trying to follow Kurt on foot, before the dig of his phone in his jeans pocket suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and an idea occurred to him.

Puck answered after the second ring.

"_S'up, bro?"_

"Kurt just ran out the house and drove off. I don't know where he is, but I can't follow him, and-"

_"I'm going now_," Puck growled, and Finn was taken aback by the ferocity of his best friend's tone. "_Thanks._"

"Sure," Finn hummed. "Let me know when you find him, yeah?"

_"Will do_," Puck conceded, and this time without a goodbye he clicked an end to their call.

Finn sighed, running his hands through his air, angry at his uselessness. Hanging his head low he walked dejectedly back inside, shutting the front door with a snap.

Only then did he hear the shouting from the living room.

"Carole, you don't understand. I have to go-"

"What you have to do, Burt Hummel," Finn's mother was ordering in her most commanding tone, "is calm down, and listen to me." She pushed Burt backwards until the insides of his knees hit the armchair, and he tumbled into it with a gasp. The man tried to stand again, but Carole simply reached forwards to clasp the sides of his face in her hands, leaning over to talk quietly to him, but in the deadly silence Finn could still make out his mother's words. "Kurt can look after himself, he's like his dad that way," she comforted. "He'll be fine."

Burt looked ready to protest, but Finn spoke, forgetting this was maybe not a moment to intrude upon.

"I called Puck, he's gone after him."

Both adults' heads snapped around to him, and Finn felt his frame shrink under their stares.

"Thank you, Finn," Burt croaked. Finn simply smiled weakly.

The silence swelled, until the teenager dared to speak again.

"So…can someone please explain what's going on?"

Carole's eyes narrowed, not angrily, but in wonder. Burt, on the other hand, shrugged, and extending on arm he patted the sofa beside him, gesturing for Finn to sit.

"Burt, maybe it's best…you don't have to-"

"No, I don't have to do anything," Burt agreed, nodding at Finn who looked unsure whether to sit or not. "But Finn should know what's going on. We're a family now, aren't we? He's pretty much my stepson already, Carole. Kurt's pretty much his brother."

"Yeah, he is," Finn voiced his agreement with an enthusiasm that earned him two fond smiles. But then he took in the way his mother's lips quivered, and he was sure he could see old tears still clinging to Burt's eyelashes. "So," he mumbled, looking from man to woman in turn. "What's going on?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Major apologies to anyone whose messages I am yet to reply to. For those who don't know, I have had a week of hell at work.**

**_Me and Mr. Jones__ -_ sorry sorry sorry, I totally wanted to reply to you before you got your next chapter out, but clearly I failed =( Hope you can forgive me! I have lots to tell you! _natztash__ - _Thank you so much for that little message! It really made me happy that someone was actually _asking _me about updates! _WaitingForThisMomentToBeFree__ - _I hope this is up to your standards, despite being a tad short, and I hope I've avoided the word 'reckon' ;) I dedicate my addition of Blaine to you! _DiDiGlee__ - _Gosh, I feel like I've been ignoring you; if it seems that way, I swear it was unintentional! How are you darling? Hope everything is well down your end, and I'm still working on my Blink-182 piece! Also, I've moved your request to the next chapter, because I am too tired to write anymore tonight.**

**Ok, I realise now that I love Blaine too much to not let him feature. So I added this first section in, it's kind of combining a different memory with the story of _Daddy's Boy_. Please enjoy, you faithful readers who can find it in your hearts to forgive this erratic updater.**

**-Kyle**

**Over and out.**

(six)

Thankfully it wasn't too cold, because in his hurry to escape the caging confines of his house Kurt hadn't had time to grab a coat. He'd panicked as he heard Finn's lumbering steps trodding down the stairs, and he'd had to rush to make it to his car in time.

Within ten minutes, having broken at least two traffic laws in his haste, possibly three, he found himself sitting in the booth of a twenty-four hour café. For a short while he enjoyed the silence of being the only customer, ordering his mocha and wincing when the waitress informed him it wasn't non-fat.

He sipped, not happily, but comfortably at least. He was well concealed in his booth, close to the corner, barely noticeable by anyone who didn't specifically know he was there to be seen.

His hands shook every time he brought the cup to his lips, and the muggy liquid scalded his tongue and throat. He kept drinking, trying his best not to confront the screaming of his inner voice yelling _coward! _at him repeatedly. He tried not to listen to the memory of Finn's confused shouting. He tried not to recall how wonderful it had felt to be safe in his father's arms for those few short moments, before his panic pulled him unnecessarily away, out of the door and all the way to here.

If only he had the courage to stand up, walk to his car, and drive home again.

As he bowed his head with shame, there was the creak and scurry of the café door opening, the distinct sound of at least two pairs of feet hurrying inside. The new customers failed to notice Kurt's presence, but he caught a glimpse of them before they sat in the booth adjacent to his own.

The small glimpse was of two males, their features startlingly similar; tan skin and dark hair. The taller had his arm around the younger, who was holding one hand to the left side of his face while the other fisted his companion's shirt. The younger man, a boy, really, sniffled and coughed as they sidled into their booth behind Kurt.

Kurt couldn't bear to think of himself as an eavesdropper, but the opportunity arose, and it seemed so much better than filling his head with his own troubles. So he sat back against his seat, his head tilted naturally to the side, and let the muffled voices wash over him.

A young man's voice was humming over hiccoughed whimpers. _Hush now. Shush now. Hey now. Come on now._

Somewhere in the deeply buried compassionate corner of his heart, Kurt felt a twinge of pain for the boy.

The cheerful voice of the bustling waitress took their orders, a water and hot chocolate each, and there was a whispering, feverish silence until she had served them their drinks.

Kurt remained still, concerned, flatly ignoring the buzzing of fearful memories in his head trying to push their way to the forefront of his thoughts, images of his father haunting him.

"_Come on now, drink up._" Sternly thoughtful, the elder.

"_N-n-n-_" Fretfully refusing, the younger.

"_Don't cry, sweetheart. Look at me, please,_" the young man sounded pleading, and Kurt was reminded painfully of his father calling his name as he ran out of the door. "_Blaine, look at me. Take your hand away, Blaine. Take it aw…there you go. Here, hold the water glass to it. There you are. That feel better, hmm?"_

Another sniffle. Kurt carefully gulped a little more of his mocha.

"_I'm sorry._" And this time it wasn't the same man's voice. This was younger, thick with stuttering tears, less concerned, more heartbroken.

"_Don't be sorry…what are you sorry for? You don't have anything to be sorry for. You hear me? Now let me see your face."_

There was a moment of silence, during which Kurt realised he was leaning back harder into his seat, and his eyebrows had actually downturned in worry about this boy who needed to hold a cold glass of water to his face.

"_Not too swollen, you're ok. Bit of a bruise, but you can pull off the cheeky fighter boy look for a while, right? Right? Of course. Drink up. We'll have to go home-"_

_"No!"_ The younger voice sounded panicked as he shouted his protest, and Kurt flinched in surprise, jerking his head forward a little. "_Please no, Coop. Please don't take me back there._"

He was crying again, not quite silently, but the sound was definitely muted, as if being muffled by a shoulder, or a collar bone. Kurt flatly ignored the prickling in his own eyes, unsure whether the sadness swelling his heart was for himself, or this boy - this other boy who didn't want to go home.

"_We're going to have to go back some time, Blaine._"

"_Please…please…_" the boy whispered, and his chant sounded more like a breath of wind to Kurt.

A young couple had entered the café, filling some of the aching silence with their lovestruck chatter as they took their seats at the counter, ordering from there to the cheery waitress.

The young man, in his desperately firm tone, had started talking again.

"_…promise you, you hear me? Nothing is going to happen to you. I swear, Blaine. He didn't mean to. He wants to see you, to talk to you. You can't…Jesus, Blaine, we need to fix this. We can't just ignore it. Please. I'll be there the whole time, I promise. I swear I won't leave you alone with him._"

The boy was struggling to breathe, Kurt could hear his gasps.

"_I just don't know what I did wrong. What I've ever done wrong._"

"_You didn't do anything wrong, you hear me?_" And this time the older voice sounded almost...angry. "_He was wrong. Not you. Don't you dare blame yourself for this. But Blaine, you also need to let him explain._"

"_Explain!_" The boy, the anguished Blaine, yelped. "_You want me to go back there and listen to his excuses? You want me to go back there and listen to him tell me it's my fault he hit me?_"

The young couple had ordered milkshakes, and the blender behind the counter was old, it made a racket as the waitress prepared their orders. Kurt found himself straining to hear what the elder's reply was.

"_…never blame you. He would never mean to hurt you like that. He loves you, Blaine. You hear me? I've never seen him look more heartbroken than when he realised what he'd done. But he couldn't apologise because you'd left- Please, Blaine. I can't lose you…but I can't lose dad, either._"

Kurt wasn't sure at what point he'd started comparing this boy to himself, but he could feel the burning blush of his cheeks as he realised with shame that he had run away from a attempted apology, and this boy had run away from a raised fist.

It concerned him how emotionally invested he was in these two brothers (were they brothers? He assumed so…) but he continued to listen. He ignored his cold mocha still clutched in his hands.

"_I never thought I'd be scared of him. I knew I could resent him…or hate him…or be indifferent…but I never thought I'd be scared of him, Cooper. I didn't think it was possible to be really scared of him."_

Kurt wondered vaguely if it was possible for his heart to break for a person he'd never met, and probably never would meet.

"_I know. I know, sweetheart. It's ok. It'll be ok. I'll drive you back to Dalton instead, how's that? We're going to sort this out. I promise. Drink up, and I'll take you back to your friends, ok? I swear, Blaine, he won't ever hurt you again. Even if I thought he was capable, I wouldn't let him._" The fierce love in this man's voice, the protectiveness of this man Cooper, astounded Kurt. He saw a brief flash of a sheepish Finn standing beside a fancy lamp, his own father shouting with all the fierce love he had inside him, and Kurt could _feel _the similiarity in tone.

Suddenly, very suddenly, he decided he really missed his father.

"_I don't think I can forgive him, Coop. I really don't think I can do it._"

And Cooper, with a gruff hum, didn't reply for quite some time. When he did, it was slow and melancholy.

"_I know…but can I just say something, Blaine?_"

The teenager must have nodded, because the tentative older voice continued after a brief pause.

"_He loves you. He'll always love you, Blaine. You don't see the way he smiles so proudly when people ask about you at work, or the way he looks so worried every time you come home late, because he's scared something's gone wrong. Don't…don't forget that, ok?_"

"_Ok,_" was all that was whispered in reply, another breath of a word that Kurt's ears barely caught.

"_And even more importantly, I love you. And you're not allowed to bottle this up. You hear me? No bottling. We're going to talk about this. Or I'll give Mrs Chambers' daughter your number, then you'll never be free of her stalking. You hear me?_"

There was a watery, choking chuckle from what sounded like the younger man, along with a deeper laugh from the speaker.

"_I promise. No bottling._"

They left not too long after their light, if a little forced, laughing spell.

Kurt remained motionless, his head still tilted and his fingers still around the coffee cup. Downing the last of his mocha, grimacing as he remembered about three seconds too late that it was stone cold, he dropped some change onto the table and followed the two young men out into the darkening sky, making straight for his car.

**DBDBDB**

Noah was starting to regret not wearing a proper jacket.

He had been so _sure _he knew Kurt well enough to guess correctly where he would run to. Had something happened? Was he truly wrong, or had Kurt had an accident? Noah couldn't be sure.

But too scared of missing him, and with no clue as to where else he could look, Noah remained on the bench of the cemetery nearest to the area of Lima that Kurt lived in. He waited with strained ears listening desperately for the sound of a car, strained eyes searching desperately for the glimpse of a pale figure approaching.

He was close to shivering by the time he was rewarded with company.

His prickling ears caught the hum and chutter of a car engine slowing to a crackled halt, the _swing-slam_ of a car door opening and closing in one fluid motion. His eyes on his knees, he listened to the blessed crunch of feet walking up the path until a warm body settled beside him.

There was a comfortable pause of acceptance and understanding, before a pale voice spoke into the swelling darkness.

"Am I really so predictable?"

Kurt sounded exhausted, but there was no hint of pain in his voice, nor a tremor of a cry. Just exhaustion.

Noah grinned silently, leaning back on the bench. He shifted to make room for Kurt to lean on him, but the younger boy seemed reluctant to relax. He perched on the bench, knees tightly locked together, ankles hooked around one another, fists clasped in his lap, shoulders rigid. That same exhausted strength seemed to fill the air around him.

"When I need to think, I go to the old fishing lake out past Lima Heights."

Kurt's head tilted a little to his companion in confusion, and Noah seemed to realise this was quite an odd statement to reply with, so he continued.

"When I was younger I went fishing with my dad. There's this old barn near the water edge. My dad used to say he was going to buy it and fix it up, and that's where we'd live - in this huge house. Ever since he left, I go there when I need to think. Kind of like I'm getting advice from my dad."

Kurt sighed quietly.

"So I _am _that predictable."

Noah's lips involuntarily smiled around his reply. "No, you're just a human being, Kurt. Nothing wrong with that."

This idea didn't seem to please the countertenor, unfortunately.

"Why are you here?"

Kurt was still frozen in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable sitting position, and his voice was edged with frost as he asked the question, twisting his neck a little to address his friend without fully looking at him.

"Because you don't believe in God, Kurt," Noah answered honestly. "So you haven't come here to talk to _Him_. And talking to someone who can't help you, no matter how much she'd want to, will only make you feel worse. And you know it."

Kurt gulped the fresh cold air, intimidated by Noah's blunt honesty - and worse, his blunt _accuracy_.

"I'm not allowed to miss my mother?" he snapped sharply. "She _died_, you know. She didn't want to leave me. She _wanted_ to be there for me."

Kurt bit his lower lip, eyes flitting to the boy by his side. But no matter how much he frayed the pink skin beneath his teeth, he couldn't bite back the cold words, or more importantly, their cruel insinuations. He wasn't stupid enough to hope Noah wouldn't read his true meaning.

He noticed the curl of Noah's fingers scratching into fists on his knees. He wondered if Noah would hit him.

He couldn't bring himself to flinch prematurely.

But Noah didn't hit him. He exhaled once…twice…thrice…

"No need to be a bitch, Hummel."

Kurt found himself flinching at the surname. He already missed being _Kurt_ to the mohawked boy. But he deserved that one.

"But really, if my dad's such an asshole," Noah mused in a tone that only tensed Kurt's muscles further, "Shouldn't you be back home taking advantage your totally awesome dad, who just wants to say sorry so you can be happy again?"

Finally Kurt braved a sneaky glance over Noah, only to find he was being watched by a pair of glittering hazel eyes. The pale boy blushed dimly in the descending darkness, breaking his poise to hunch ever so slightly.

Guilt flooded to his fingertips, squeezing his chest tightly.

"I know," he whispered under his breath.

Noah, tired of waiting for Kurt to relax enough to lean against him, wound his arm around the smaller boy's frame and pulled him in a little closer. He accepted Kurt's apologetic silence with a hum that turned into an unfamiliar tune vibrating in his throat. Tentatively Kurt rested the side of his head against his companion's collar bone.

"Where's your mom?" Noah spoke into the emptiness around them. He didn't know whether or not it was proper of him to ask, but he had never been one for tact or etiquette.

"Three down and four to the right from that elm tree." Kurt indicated vaguely and Puck squinted, trying to find it. He thought he had it, but from such a distance it was impossible to tell if he had the right one. So he just nodded, and mumbled an incoherent _oh _in response.

Their silence was filled by a comfortable awkwardness that was almost pleasant with its tense anticipation.

"What kept you?" Noah asked after a while.

Kurt shuffled to sit back up, but he felt Noah's jacketless torso shiver beneath him, so he stilled, letting his own body heat gently radiate over the larger teen. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Where did you go before you came here?" Noah asked. He didn't like dancing around subjects.

Kurt didn't question Noah's certainty that he had gone somewhere else before the cemetery - he was correct, after all.

"Café," Kurt sniffed. Noah couldn't decide whether to scoff or laugh, so he settled for a choked mixture of both. Kurt closed his eyes, his head filled with the soft hums of two voices he'd likely never hear again. "Two guys…they sat behind me," he said quietly.

Noah shifted, and there was an ominous growl in his throat as he cut in fast. "They didn't try anything, did they?"

"No!" Kurt cried, flinching at Noah's gruff tone. "Nothing like that. They were…one of them was about our age, and there was an older guy. Maybe twenty years old? They sat behind me."

"Oh," Puck replied lamely, unsure what the correct response was to this seemingly irrelevant detail.

"I heard them talking," Kurt admitted, his teeth nipping at his lip as he squirmed guiltily at the word _eavesdropping_ pounding in his head. "The younger one…he didn't want to go home. I think they were brothers. He was…his dad had hit him. He was scared of going home."

Puck's silence was one of realisation and understanding. His fingers clasped around Kurt's bicep, and he pulled the boy even closer to his chest.

"And I just felt so…_ashamed_," Kurt stammered. "Because I ran away from my dad again. And my dad would _never _hit me. I'm such a coward-"

"You're not a coward, Kurt," Noah assured him softly.

"No, I am," Kurt nodded, his hair tickling the base of Noah's neck. "I shouldn't have left my dad like that tonight. We got so close, but I panicked and ran before we could resolve anything."

Noah mulled this over for a moment before dropping his chin firmly onto the crown of the boy's head. "That makes you a bit dumb, Kurt. Not a coward."

For some reason, Kurt's sniffle of a response sounded _amused_.

"What?" Noah demanded, and this time Kurt let out a throaty chuckle.

"Never thought there'd be a day when _Noah Puckerman_ had cause to call _me _dumb."

"I'm actually pretty smart, you know," Noah sulked jokingly, earning another confidently amused laugh, muted slightly by Kurt's face being half-pressed into his chest. Kurt shook his head fondly, sitting upright and staring straight into Noah's knowing eyes.

He wondered about the boy in the café. It occurred to him that there was a very small chance indeed that their situations were similar in any way whatsoever, but in his mind he'd already constructed the assumed fantasy - a gay teenager, a supportive brother, a father struggling to adjust, perhaps a mother hovering on the sideline. For some reason he drew strength from this assumption. Strength, and motivation, and courage.

He opened his mouth abruptly, intending to state his newfound courage and gratitude clearly, to inform the world (if only directly to Noah) that he was Kurt Hummel: unafraid and ready to fix things with his father. Instead, his disobedient lips found a different phrase, coloured with confusion that hinted at delight.

"Since when are you gay, anyhow?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Title****: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary****: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings****: Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings****: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**I cannot believe how long it has taken me to update. Guys! (and girls!) I am so sorry! There are only two more chapters left, as far as I have planned (well, a chapter and an epilogue) but I am unsure when I'll be able to update again. A few days ago my darling boyfriend decided it would be a good idea to quit his job without having one waiting for him, so my work shifts are going to increase until he can get himself another job. Yaay for bills to pay! (Note the sarcasm.) **

**For now, however, I present to you possibly a bit more fluffy ickiness than I originally intended. This is for DiDiGlee, me and Mr. Jones, and WaitingForThisMomentToBeFree, who are wonderful. Oh, and for Sally. You should all go read her story (on our StormsInNeverland profile) called As A God. Go read it, review it, and nag her to update until she is inspired =)**

**Lotta lotta lotta love, to all you out there who still remember who I am!**

**-Kyle**

**Over and out.**

(seven)

_"Since when are you gay, anyhow?"_

It wasn't as if Noah had been naïve enough to think the question would _never _come up. It was quite a huge issue to tackle, to be fair.

He just didn't expect it to be confronted late on a Sunday afternoon, sat in a cemetery with a teary-eyed boy for company.

But Noah Puckerman had always, as far as he was concerned, had a knack for improvising.

"Since you wore those red skinnies a few weeks ago. Dude, you really need to calm down with the tight clothes. Jizzing in my pants does _not _help my rep. Like, at _all_."

Kurt had officially lost all control of the conversation.

He spluttered and choked on air, staring at Noah as if he'd started speaking fluent Chinese - in fact, that would probably have been a little less unexpected. And Noah simply shrugged, as if his statement had been as natural as discussing the unusually cold climate they'd been having, waiting for a reply with all the grace and ease he could muster.

"Noah!" Kurt managed to spit from his strangled throat after a delay of a few seconds. "You don't…_say _things like that!" Noah grinned at the boy's scandalised expression.

"Well I do," Noah smirked, shifting around to face the smaller boy properly. "Because, dude, it's kind of true. And I'm all about the honesty these days."

"You mean like the honest way you explained to Coach Beiste why Jacob Ben-Israel's clothes were hanging from the flagpole last week?"

Noah scoffed, batting a hand in the air lightly to wave the accusation away. "Dude, the kid's like, a flea with fuzzball hair. And don't change the subject. If anything, _I _should be the awkward one here. Be nice to me, I'm having a sexuality crisis here."

The smirk on Kurt's face dropped a little, his lips twitching downwards. His eyes found his fumbling fingers, and Noah sensed he'd said something wrong. He reached over to put his guitar-calloused hands over Kurt's, squeezing tightly.

"Hey," he mumbled, "What did I say? Just-"

"And what if that's all this is?" Kurt blurted out, looking up quickly, glasz meeting hazel and holding a fearful connection. "I'm not…I'm not going to be your little exploration guinea-pig, Noah."

Noah grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "Dude, your feet are like, huge. Something tells me there's not much that's _little _about you at all-"

"Noah!" Kurt scowled, a blush staining his cheeks and flushing its way down his neck, where it disappeared beneath his colour. "Don't…I just…I don't…"

"Hey, ok, I'm sorry. Right? I'm sorry," Noah reassured him softly, shifting closer but not quite forcing an embrace upon the boy beside him. "What I meant to say was no. This isn't some crazy teenage experimenting shit. I promise. Please trust me."

In between Noah's lustful hormone driven thoughts, he knew this was a lot to ask of Kurt. Because protecting him from jocks like Karofsky and watching films and curling on opposite ends of an incredibly large bed and sharing a bowl of popcorn might never be proof enough to eradicate the memories of a year and a half of High School dumpster tosses, and slushies, and name calling, and locker slams. Not even counting their classes together _before_ High School.

Noah was surprised at the almost physical pain it brought him, realising there was always the chance Kurt might _never _trust him enough to take this step with him.

"I think I do," Kurt replied cautiously, looping an index finger around Noah's as watching the colours of their skin, caramel and alabaster, press gently against one another.

"Well that's a start," Noah grinned. And his smile widened considerably when it dawned on him that it really was enough for him. Just the possibility that this boy, grown from stranger to victim to friend, and so soon to something undoubtedly more, was ready to even _think _about trusting him.

Because it wasn't exactly a news flash that not many people trusted Noah Puckerman anymore.

Kurt smiled shyly at Noah, suddenly aware of how very exposed he felt in this mild Sunday afternoon air, alone in a cemetery with a boy who may or may not (but by the look in Noah's eyes, the former seemed much more likely) have genuine feelings for him. It surprised Kurt that something he'd waited so long for scared him quite so much.

It was almost _too _overwhelming.

"You alright, Kurt?" Noah asked warily. "You kind of look like you're half deciding to run away right now. S'kind of freaking me out."

"Umm," Kurt wondered to himself if it was even possible to blush anymore than he already was doing. Which of course only led to further embarrassment, causing an even deeper shade of red to stain his face. Sometimes he really hated inheriting his mother's colouring. "Just...realising this is actually my life and thinking this is _so _not how I expected the weekend to go when I left school on Friday."

Noah let out a husky laugh, because it was true. He doubted anyone could have anticipated the weekend's events. Not himself, not Kurt, certainly not Burt…well, possibly his mother, but Joanna Puckerman had always been a little bit _too _intuitive for her own good.

"Can I…?" Noah asked quietly, and his voice died in his throat because it came to his attention that this would be the first time he ever in his life _asked_ for a kiss.

Whatever happened to _Puck_, the guy who simply took what he wanted?

But Kurt seemed to follow his train of thought, and nodded his head ever so slightly, almost too softly, because Noah paused to think maybe Kurt hadn't even meant to do it.

Yet still they leaned in, closer and closer, until their bubbles of personal space were officially broken, and within a few seconds skin met skin.

It was the first kiss Noah had ever experienced in which the pair of lips glued to his own weren't smeared with sticky gloss or tacky smears of lipstick, and he decided that this way was definitely the way to go. It was only brief, a mere few seconds of lip lock, and then a soft breathless kissing sound as in unison both boys pulled away, bashful and excited.

"Well?" Noah asked almost immediately.

Kurt's front teeth bit down gently on his lower lip, narrowing his eyes slightly as if deep in thought.

"Weird," the smaller boy concluded after a moment of deliberation, and Noah pouted.

"Good weird?" he pressed, and Kurt laughed delicately.

"Not sure yet," he admitted. "Just weird."

"Well…" Noah smiled sneakily, leaning forwards again and reaching up a hand to the top of Kurt's neck. "How about-"

"Wait," Kurt interrupted, pressing a hand to Noah's lips.

Reluctantly accepting he wasn't going to get any more lip action any time soon, Noah settled for kissing Kurt's slender fingers loudly. Kurt rolled his eyes, but couldn't get rid of the grin that spread across his lips.

"You're my friend, Noah?" For some reason it came out as a question.

"Well I was kind of hoping for something a bit more-" Noah swallowed back his words at Kurt's stern expression, even if it was clearly playful. "Yeah, we're friends."

"Then wait?" Kurt pleaded softly, the amusement dimming in his expression, replaced with shiny eyes and a worried lip.

Noah blinked a few times, frowning in confusion. "For what?" he asked slowly, looking around suspiciously.

"Just long enough to make sure this isn't a bi-curious phase that you'll get over the moment Lindsey Jacobson asks to sleep with you again?" Kurt asked, and it was such an innocent request that Noah couldn't ignore the well of guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Kurt simply _assuming_ he was being used in some way. "And if your feelings happen to go away," Kurt pressed with a falsely cheery voice, "Then it doesn't matter, right? You go back to your straight-jock ways and I will continue my path of fate that will inevitably end with me dying alone."

Kurt grinned, pressing his whole hand to Noah's lips again when the mohawked boy looked eager to protest.

"Don't, silly. I just mean…I don't mind waiting until I'm far away in New York, where happiness is just around the corner. You know, as opposed to Lima. Where happiness has to be searched for with a fine toothed comb."

Kurt smiled acceptingly at his own words, removing his hand from the other boy's face when Noah tried to kiss his palm, pouting.

"Ok," Noah shrugged. "We have ourselves a deal, Hummel. We wait."

Kurt sighed contentedly.

"But I'm still taking you on that date," Noah reminded him sharply, winking.

The pale boy grinned, flexing his fingers in his lap with nervous excitement. "Good," he mumbled, and they laughed in unison.

And with that, Noah leapt to his feet, held out a hand for Kurt to take, and pulled the slender boy up to stand beside him. "And now," Noah announced to the Sunday calm of the cemetery, "We go back to see Daddy Hummel."

**DBDBDB**

The sun was almost completely hidden by the shady horizon by the time they reached the Hudson-Hummel household.

Kurt grew more and more restive the closer they neared his house, tapping his fingers on his steering wheel as Noah followed behind in his truck - just to make sure Kurt didn't get cold feet again.

The walk from the end of the driveway to the front door seemed impossibly long, and when Kurt hesitated a mere three or four steps from the house, Noah slipped his larger hand into his smaller one, comforting him with a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks," Kurt muttered under his breath, but removed his hand from Noah's grip.

Not wanting to let go quite yet, Noah placed his hand on the small of Kurt's back, guiding him softly to the door.

It was open, and they filed in almost silently, the smaller boy trembling ever so slightly.

"Kurt?"

Carole's voice was coming from the kitchen, and Kurt, after being prodded a few times in the back by Noah, rushed through the house to stand in the doorway.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice breathless and his pitch at least an octave higher than usual.

"Oh, there you are dear," she hummed, so naturally it was as if he'd never left. "Take these plates into the dining room, will you? There's an extra one there for Noah."

Kurt froze as she dropped five plates into his hands, stuttering wordlessly for a moment. He swiftly turned and bustled through to the dining room as per requested, pulling Noah with him before the mohawked boy could say a word.

At the table sat Burt and Finn, who were having a quiet, secretive conversation that was soon hushed when the two boys appeared in the doorway.

Kurt paused for only a moment before placing each plate down with careful deliberation. He put all his focus into his task so as to avoid looking directly at his father, and upon noticing Finn's concerned expression and deducing he had been informed of the situation, he turned quickly away from his stepbrother, too.

He was desperate to leave the room again before the stuffy air stifled him, but Noah had taken hold of his elbow and was nudging him towards his seat. Before Kurt could break away, Carole appeared, carrying a large steak pie that was ceremoniously given a generous amount of space in the middle of the table.

Kurt took his seat reluctantly, shifting up to let Noah take the place beside him. This unfortunate manoeuvre brought him at least five inches closer to his father, and he could feel his ears burning as he looked carefully down at his empty plate.

"Well," Carole sighed, picking up a large knife and matching spoon. "I'll serve, shall I?"

The four men remained silent as Carole dished out the meal, awkwardly avoiding each others' gazes, speaking only to hum a _thank you_ as they accepted their large helping of pie.

Burt's eyes flickered between Noah and his son for a moment, but soon rested on his wife, who smiled encouragingly at him. Finn simply stared openly at his stepbrother between mouthfuls of steak and pastry, chewing and gulping without shame. Puck, on the other hand, repeatedly threw Kurt sideways glances at Kurt, occasionally lifting his eyes to Burt; but most of his attention was saved for the younger Hummel.

Kurt, however, kept his eyes on his food, lips pressed tightly together and only parting at short intervals to eat rabbit portions of food.

There was an awkward silence as Carole took her seat and joined the others in eating, and her stern gaze was equally split between all four men. Kurt and Finn both managed to avoid her eyes, one deliberately and the other obliviously, but Puck caught her look and gulped uncomfortably.

"This is lovely, thanks, Carole," he mumbled to himself, and Carole was torn between celebrating that at least _one _of them had found their voice, and throwing her own plate of food at Noah for sticking to the mundane (and more importantly, _unhelpful_) topic of complimenting the chef.

While the other three voiced their quiet agreement, Carole smiled semi-gratefully, glaring hard at Burt.

And, being her husband and well aware that she would not give in before him, he eventually cracked.

"So, Puck. You staying the night?"

Noah hastened to swallow a particularly large piece of meat, grateful for the chance to fill the buzzing silence of the dinner, and presently began to choke. He gasped and gulped, and it took Kurt rolling his eyes and slapping him hard on the back three times to recover. He gulped down almost an entire glass of water before finally looking up at Burt, whose expression was a mixture of amused and concerned.

"I…could, if that's ok with you, sir," he said, his tone innocent and ambiguous.

Burt nodded firmly.

"Of course it's ok with me. Else I wouldn't have asked, would I?" his lips quirked into what could have been a smile as Noah shrugged awkwardly. "There's an air mattress in Finn's room you can use. Or there's the fold out in the basement. Whichever you want."

It was Kurt's turn to choke. He spluttered for a moment, reaching over to sip some water before it could turn into a disaster the same way Noah had been only moments ago. His eyes involuntarily flickered to his father in his shock, and he felt a blush warm his entire face when he accidentally caught Burt's eye.

"Thank you, sir," Noah replied, trying not to sound too surprised. From the corner of his eye he could see Finn looking suspiciously between two teens sat opposite him, eyes narrowing and lips parting in slow shock, as if ignorant to the fact he still hadn't swallowed his last bite.

"Close your mouth, Finn," Carole sighed more to herself than to the table, and Finn hummed gauchely as he attempted to smoothly pretend he hadn't been staring.

Noah shuffled in his seat, suddenly ill at ease. He'd promised Finn he wanted to talk to him - what better chance than tonight?

But with the hope that very soon Kurt would no longer only be considered simply his _friend _fresh in his mind, Noah was painfully aware of the fact Burt probably wasn't going to be giving him a free pass to sleep in Kurt's room very often after this.

Thankfully it seemed he wasn't expected to announce his decision straight away at the dinner table, because after a slight dip in atmosphere, Carole and Burt began discussing work shifts and sorting out the time schedule for the following week.

When it became clear Kurt definitely wasn't going to look up from his plate again (at least, not until his blush had dimmed to less than one hundred watts) Noah returned to his meal, his thoughts lingering with confused melancholy on the fact that all this food and water was washing away the taste of Kurt from his lips.

**DBDBDB**

Noah's badly restrained hormones (and, it seemed, slight tendency to masochism) overpowered him.

His argument was solid, of course. It was true, the fold out bed was far comfier than an air bed. And the basement was always a pleasant climate, unlike Finn's untidy room of humid _teenage boy _air. And there was a lot more space for two people to sleep in the basement than in the bedrooms upstairs.

Unfortunately, however, he still caught Burt's warning gaze as he made his way down to the basement. He had blushed a furious shade of crimson and raced downstairs, incredibly glad that Burt had missed any opportunity to mention keeping doors _open_.

As if the evening hadn't been awkward enough.

So he hastened down to the basement, trying his best to him the memory of Burt's watchful eyes on him.

By the time he reached Kurt's bedroom, the smaller boy had already unfolded the couch into a bed and was busying himself with the blankets and sheets, tucking them with neat hospital corners and smoothing out imaginary creases. Noah grinned at Kurt's fussing, at the little frown in his brow as he plumped the pillows repeatedly.

"I think that'll do, Kurt," he commented lightly, and Kurt leapt to attention, unaware of the watchful observer. Both boys chuckled nervously, Kurt backing away a step or two as Noah approached the bed. "Thanks," he mumbled, gesturing to the neatly presented covers.

"No problem," Kurt blushed, biting his lip, and Noah started to regret not sleeping in Finn's room. How was he supposed to remain calm, collected and casual all night?

He had no idea.

However, neither of the boys were known for enjoying long, awkward silences, and soon they were coughing and humming conversation openers at one another.

"Movie?" Kurt offered, hand vaguely waving at the television. It was still early, and Noah knew that while sitting in the very close proximity of one Kurt E. Hummel whilst in the dark watching a movie was putting himself at great risk of accidentally crossing the friendship boundary, he hoped at least that a good enough film would be a semi-decent distraction.

"Sure," he said, waltzing nonchalantly over to the cabinet where all the dvds were kept and sifting through them one by one.

"_Not Saw_," Kurt reminded him in a warning tone, and Noah snorted.

"Dude, just because you get scared," he retorted with an offhand wink over his shoulder. Kurt stuck out his tongue and mockingly scowled.

"I already watched them all with you, remember?" Kurt jutted his hip outwards into his hand, raising his eyebrows high and looking expectant. "And I watched Drag Me To Hell…oh, and what else was there? _The Shining_. _Paranormal Activity_. _Jeepers Creepers_. _The Exorcism of Emily Rose_."

"Yeah," Noah interjected. "And dude, you're like, the _worst _person to watch horror films with. Ever."

Kurt laughed gleefully, falling backwards onto his bed as Noah put in the dvd of his choice, hiding the box from Kurt's view.

"Only because I, unlike you, have some degree of talent in guessing the most obvious plotlines known to mankind." Kurt threw the boy kneeling on the floor a cocky smirk, to which Noah glowered darkly.

"And totally _ruining _it for everyone else by announcing your guesses to the world."

"At least I'm always ri-ight," Kurt sang to him, his eyes dancing with delight.

Noah stood, grabbing the remote in one hand and pushing the dvd case out of sight with the other. There was a brief moment of deliberation, in which he wondered where he was supposed to sit. On the beanbag in Finn's usual place? At the foot of the bed in his own usual place?

Kurt, seeing his dilemma, rolled his eyes and patted the pillow on the top of the bed beside him shyly.

Noah grinned, bouncing up the bed and throwing himself down to lie next to the sitting boy, so his shoulder was resting against Kurt's hip.

"What did you choose?" Kurt asked suspiciously, eyeing the tv remote in Noah's firm grip.

"Wait and see, sweetheart," Noah patted Kurt's thigh reassuringly, trying not to get too distracted by the placement of his hands. "Wait and see."

DBDBDB

"Do you think letting them sleep down there together was the best idea?" Burt asked dubiously.

He was sitting at the kitchen table as he read through a series of bills for the garage and Carole ran a damp cloth over the already immaculate worktops. Carole didn't even look up from the cooker as she scrubbed.

"It was your idea," she reminded him, sounding amused. "I have to admit, I was quite surprised. I honestly thought you'd have castrated Puck by now."

"Carole," Burt shuddered, "Please never use that word. You don't understand how painful it is for a man to even _hear _that word."

Carole chuckled under her breath, throwing her husband a teasing look over her shoulder.

"I think it was good of you," she assured him, pausing in her task only long enough to kiss the top of the man's head. "It shows you trust them. I think they'll both appreciate that. After all, we don't even know if Puck's said anything to Kurt yet. He's quite shy beneath all that bravado, I wouldn't be surprised if it takes him a while to even hint at having feelings for Kurt."

Burt grunted incoherently, clearly finding his wife's words to be of little comfort.

"I'm going to say goodnight," he announced to the room at large, although with Finn in his room on the phone to Rachel, there was only Carole to hear and, consequently, laugh a little.

"It's not an governmental mission," she pointed out, "Just go say goodnight. And don't you dare embarrass them, Burt Hummel!" Burt waved her away fondly as he walked out of the room. "Or yourself!" she called to him as an afterthought.

Burt smiled appreciatively at his wife's somewhat lacking encouragement.

He paused for a second outside the door to the basement, and the sounds of a film hummed unintelligibly from inside. Burt hesitated. He could remember being a teenager, when watching a film could mean two very different things. Very much watching a film or very much _not _watching a film.

Quietly he pushed the door, opening it carefully and stepping inside.

From the positioning of the stairs, it was possible to go at least four steps inside before being noticed. Burt reached three and froze, hearing his son's voice, a mixture of amusement and tenderness.

"Noah, you look like you're going to cry."

"It's a sad film, ok!" Noah spluttered, and Burt frowned. He took one more step, but there was no way of seeing the television without putting himself in the direct line of sight of the two boys. So he waited, and with marginal guilt bubbling in his stomach, he listened with open ears.

"Why did you choose it, then?" Kurt asked softly.

Noah muttered an answer that Burt guessed to be along the lines of _It's my favourite film…_

"It is?" Kurt sounded genuinely shocked, and Burt's intrigue grew. What was the film? "But…Noah…"

"What?" the boy asked defensively.

"You said your favourite film was Batman."

"I know," Noah replied quietly.

"But…" Kurt seemed to search for words, spluttering a little. "_Whale Rider_? Really? It's just…"

Although his question was now answered, Burt realised with a twinge of annoyance this didn't help much. He wasn't even aware they owned a film called Whale Rider.

"Nobody seems to really believe in her." Noah's voice was abruptly muffled, as if he was hiding his lips as he spoke the words, like an embarrassing confession. Burt was surprised by how vulnerable the jock sounded when he talked so quietly. "She's so desperate to prove herself. And yeah, there's a couple of people on her side. But they don't really think she's capable. They just don't believe in her."

There was a long pause, and blindsided by the corner of the stairs Burt was frustrated at not being able to see what was going on.

The music of the film credits was playing softly, and the older Hummel was beginning to think they boys weren't going to speak again. Not wanting to be caught, he turned to leave without announcement.

Kurt's voice broke the almost silence, compassionate and honest.

"I believe in you."

To the surprise of many, he was sure, Burt Hummel was not constantly mistaking his son's voice for that of his dead wife's.

It was true, his son had an unusually high pitched voice, but that didn't make him a direct replica of his mother. Ellie's voice had been sing song, with inflections in the oddest of words and flowing phrases. Kurt's voice was sharper, hardened no doubt by years of defensive wit and fear; the musical quality of his voice was less pronounced, and when it could be heard, it had an air of theatricality too flamboyant to ever be mistaken for Ellie.

So when Burt heard his son speak with such benevolence, such understanding, he didn't freeze, suddenly thinking his long dead wife had magically appeared in the room. But his heart swelled with pride, because it was such an _Ellie _thing to say. To reply to the unspoken words, rather than follow the voiced conversation.

An unstoppable smile pulled at his lips, and he had to restrain himself from dashing straight down the stairs and pulling his son into a crushing embrace.

This was not the time, no matter how much Burt wanted it to be.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the reply.

"Thank you," Noah said, his voice less muffled now, as if he dared speak louder, with greater confidence. "And just for the record, I'll still be here. Even if you make me wait ten years."

Kurt's laugh rang pleasantly through the room, almost hinting at melancholy, but not quite.

"Noah Puckerman, even if you attempted to wait ten years for me, you'd die of sexual frustration long before you reached halfway."

Noah grumbled under his breath, seemingly unable to contradict Kurt's judgement.

"And besides," the amused voice continued, "I'm not going to make you wait ten years. Just a little while."

As realisation slowly dawned on Burt, his conflicted emotions caused a frenzy of battering thoughts to muddle his brain.

Proud of Kurt for his maturity? Surprise that Puck had acted so fast? Pleased with Puck for respecting his son's wishes?

He wasn't sure which thought won out, in the end. Because the boys were talking again.

"How long are you going to make your dad wait?" Noah asked delicately. Burt felt the air in his lungs contract. "Because dude, you need to-"

"I'm talking to him tomorrow," Kurt announced with a surprising amount of determination. "At the garage after school."

"Want me to come with?" Noah offered.

"No," Kurt said loudly, but quietened immediately. "I mean, thanks, Noah. Really. But I want to talk to my dad. Just him and me."

"Ok," Noah said simply, not sounding offended at all. "Well, I think I'd better get to bed."

"Yes, go!" Kurt urged with a laugh. "Before you start crying over Paikea all over again!"

"Dude!" Noah cried. "It's a beautiful story! And I was not crying!"

There was the muffled thump of a pillow hitting a body, followed by another, and another, and Kurt squealed in protest for Noah to stop. The sounds of tussling and wrestling could be heard, stifled shrieks and triumphant laughter.

When it finally came to a stop, Burt was starting to worry the boys were going to hurt themselves.

Or possibly excite themselves a bit too much.

But they didn't, and with a sigh Kurt once more spoke first.

"Goodnight, Noah Puckerman." It was rare to hear such contentment in Kurt's voice.

"Goodnight, Kurt Hummel."

Burt made his ascent back up to the door in his own contemplative silence.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he would talk to his son. And then see about properly interrogating that Puckerman boy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**Wow, bet you all thought I'd forgotten about this, huh? Well, I haven't. This is technically a 'wrap up' chapter, but there will be an epilogue (that will happen quicker, I promise) so stick around, folks!**

**A/N IMPORTANT: Some of you may think this is an 'easy fix' and will criticise me. Please don't, because here's a lesson in life that I have learned in the last 28 years. Some things in life are difficult. Some things fully never go away. But occasionally, often when you least expect it, life throws you a rope, and if you're clever, you'll grab onto it. Here is Burt and Kurt grabbing the rope together.**

**Lotta love, -Kyle xx**

(eight)

When Kurt arrived at the garage the following evening, his father was buffing the bonnet of a gleaming red Chevrolet Impala, newly fixed and ready to be collected. Burt seemed unaware that there was no need to continue petting the crimson metal as it practically glowed beneath the soft cloth in his hands, and Kurt watched fondly for a few seconds, knowing the peace of the scene before him would break the moment he made his presence known.

It had been a long day for Kurt, involving repeatedly pushing away an endearingly nosy Rachel Berry as she attempted to subtly prod Kurt into telling her what had happened over the weekend. A harassed Kurt had eventually resorted to making a flippant (and utterly sacrilegious) comment about a possible Barbra Streisand failure that immediately sent Rachel into a tirade of the ten thousand perfections of Barbra Streisand in order to distract her.

Mercedes and Tina, catching on to Rachel's constant frenzy, had even nudged Kurt over lunch, asking if he was sure everything was ok. Assuring them that he was more than fine, Kurt had eagerly planned a sleepover with just the three of them. Mercedes had grinned, eyes flashing at the word _makeover_, and soon her concern was washed away; Tina, however, had thrown Kurt a sceptical glance at him, but nonetheless allowed the matter to rest, much to Kurt's silent gratitude.

Noah, too, had been something of a problem for Kurt.

It began with an incredibly awkward drive to school, Noah in the front beside him (having screamed shotgun while Finn still had a mouthful of cereal) while Finn sat curiously in the back, staring at the backs of their heads until both were squirming with discomfort. Not for the first time, Kurt damned his tendency to underestimate Finn's skills of observance, which, while limited, still worked unfortunately well when it came to his soon to be stepbrother's moods.

The day had not improved once the three escaped the stuffy confines of Kurt's spacious _baby_.

Once upon a time Noah Puckerman had considered it to be his greatest amusement to flick scrunched up pieces of paper at the back of Kurt Hummel's head, more often than not with cruel words and names written between the folds. Years later, it seemed Noah still took great delight in annoying Kurt in such a manner.

Only, the notes were no longer threats of dumpster dives, or asking what flavour slushy he'd like to wear today. They were embarrassingly vivid descriptions of exactly why Noah prefers it when Kurt wears his skinny jeans, or crude insinuations of covering Kurt not in flavoured ice, but in whipped cream, instead.

All in all, it was a stressful, distracting day.

"Want one?"

A rough voice awoke Kurt from an absent daydream, and he blinked to see that he had been discovered. Burt Hummel had turned to face him, and was holding out a second polishing cloth for his son to take.

Kurt dropped his bag on a chair near the wall, slipping his arms out of his coat and folding it carefully before accepting the cloth and standing on the other side of the car bonnet.

"You know the car's about as shiny as it's going get, right?" Kurt asked with a slight grin. A ghost of a smile graced his father's face. He nodded, more to himself than to his son, but kept on cleaning.

Kurt joined in, more out of instinct than intention.

There was a comfortable silence between the pair, both staring down at the car, aware of one another's presence only by the sound of gentle breathing. Until the almost silence was broken.

"You know, when your mom died, and I realised I was going to have to do the single parent thing, I was always scared of one thing: making mistakes."

At this Kurt's smile burst from his in a puff of breath, and Burt's eyes twinkled at his son as they glanced at one another.

"Seriously!" he insisted. "S'probably why I didn't do so well at first. 'Cause for about a year I was so scared of doing something wrong, I barely did anything at all."

"You did great, dad," Kurt interjected with the gratitude of a child who wanted nothing more than to reassure, and in return be reassured.

"Damn right I did. But you know why?"

At this Kurt shook his head slowly, not even aware of his hand still wiping at the car bonnet.

"Because one day, I was watching a game of football while those crappy boxed up dinners you always hated were defrosting in the kitchen. Just having a bit of selfish time to myself, like any other parent. And you fell down the stairs. Carpet burned your knees and your hands.

"I don't know what I expected would happen when you finally hurt yourself under my watch. The sky to fall down? Or maybe some haunting ghost of your mom come to tell me I'll never do it right, that I'll never raise you proper. But you hardly even cried. I washed your hands and knees, put some cream on the carpet burns, and after dinner I took you out to that diner that used to do the real nice ice cream, remember it?"

Kurt did. He remembered it well. It was gone now, replaced by a McDonald's, of all things, three years ago. Kurt had had an inexplicable urge to shed a tear when he found out, as if a small piece of his childhood had died when that diner was shut down.

"You went to bed smiling that night, even with your scraped hands and knees." Burt smiled proudly at this, and Kurt shared a secret smile of his own. "I realised that being a good parent's not about being perfect. It's about making mistakes and then making it better, just like everything else in life. You know?"

Kurt nodded sombrely, eyes on the cloth in his hands, still making small circles on that shiny metal. "Yeah…"

"But see," Burt continued, and the urgency, the self deprecation in his voice, made Kurt look up again. "Maybe it's because this ain't a single parent family anymore. Maybe it was something else. But somewhere along the way I came to realise not only are you not made of glass, kiddo, but you're made of tougher stuff than your old man ever was."

"Dad," Kurt began, but his voice failed him. Because Kurt Hummel might not like football, or flannel shirts, and he wasn't even really that interested in cars, but he was still a son; a child of Burt Hummel, and there's a small knot of cold fear in every child's chest that warms when a parents says something like that. Kurt doesn't need to be a miniature version of his father to want to be like him, in some small sense.

"What I'm trying to say, Kurt, is that I made a mistake on Saturday night."

It's Monday evening, and Saturday seems so very far away right now. No matter how fresh the pain, it's certainly dulled, and dimmed, into a wretched memory of a nightmare that seems almost silly in the light of day. Because that's what those words were. The nightmare that lies dormant in the shadows of the night. And Burt Hummel, this Burt Hummel right here, standing in his garage with pride and guilt in his eyes as he looks over the bonnet of a crimson Chevrolet Impala at his son, is the reality come to dispel the nightmare.

"And this time ice-cream ain't going to fix it." Somewhere in the back of Kurt's mind a cynical voice reminds him that the diner shut down years ago anyway, like the quiet warning of a precognitive interlude. "But that doesn't make it unfixable, does it?"

There's some measure of insecurity in Burt's voice, as if he's worried Kurt will disagree; nod his head and tell him that's exactly what it is. Unfixable.

Instead Kurt shakes his head silently, eyes wet and the corners of his lips quivering.

"'Cause Kurt, you don't need me to explain to you about good influences and bad influences. Some people will just bring out the worst in you, the way some people bring out the best in you. And if I forgot what sort of influence Vincent Mallory is, then that's my fault. And it's my fault for letting him get to me like that.

"What I do know is that those things I said that night? Maybe I got some issues I need to work on before I try running for Parent of the Year. But those things…Kurt, they're not the things I think of when I look at you."

Kurt raised his eyebrows softly, looking almost surprised, even though perhaps it isn't such a surprise to hear that after all. Because as deeply buried as those blossoming insecurities are, in full bloom in the prime of his teenage years, the love his father has surrounded him with all these years is buried deeper still, the roots stronger and the fruits brighter.

Burt could see the thoughts clouding behind his son's eyes, but more obvious was the smile slowly widening in the boy's face, and he knew Kurt probably wasn't even aware he was smiling.

The car gleamed brightly between them, beneath their still hands. Burt didn't need to tell his son what he thought of when he looked at him. It was a mutual understanding between them as quiet and beautiful as that bright red Chevrolet.

"You know I can adopt, right?"

It might have seemed like an odd thing to come out with, in light of the heartfelt apology, but if Burt was surprised by his son's mildly defensive outburst, he didn't show it. He just nodded, a knowledgeable smile on his face. "Yeah, I know."

"And there's surrogacy. I mean, just because-"

"Kurt?" Burt interrupted, and the younger Hummel fell silent, his eyes wet and shiny. "I _know_," he promised with all the sincerity he could muster into two words. It seemed Kurt understood, too, because the brimming tears were blinked back, not a single one spilled.

"I never…I never doubted you'd stick up for me, really," Kurt explained uneasily, wringing the cloth in his hands nervously. "It was…it was as if you'd stuck up for me before, but you'd never wanted to. I thought you just…lied."

"We don't lie in our household, Kurt Hummel," it was a firm voice, but not a stern one. Closer to a plea than anything else. "

It was true, and Kurt pushed his chin towards his chest in an almost nod.

"I love you, Kurt," Burt said with a tone of finality Kurt would probably have been a little frightened had the words been any less loving and true. "And I don't need to prove that to anybody but you, and your mother. Not to Carole or Finn, not to my colleagues, not to my friends. As long as you believe me, it doesn't matter."

Kurt considered this for a moment. Considered how much his opinion meant to his father, and a flush of something not quite gratitude, perhaps akin to relief, flooded through him until the tips of his fingers trembled with quiet excitement.

"I believe you," he sighed in a deep exhalation. Burt Hummel's face split into a smile Kurt hadn't seen in years. It was a parental honesty that often disappears as the child inside grows up, and fatherly role changes, somewhere between the line that crosses from _daddy _to _dad_.

It was more than enough.

Two laughs mingled in the air, and both father and son returned to their polishing with separate smiles mirrored in their eyes.

"So," Burt sighed with a puff of breath after a few moments, and he fixed Kurt with a twinkling eye that was somewhere between apprehensive and playful, as if unsure whether or not he was in the clear to start joking around yet or not. "Noah Puckerman, huh?"

The warm blush of Kurt's face in the heat of the garage reddened furiously as his eyes widened comically. He spluttered incoherently a few times before returning his attention to the car, unable to hold his father's eye.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt pressed when Kurt, though clearly embarrassed, did not seem angry at the jibe. "There are plenty worse guys in the world you could choose as your first boyfriend."

Kurt paused in his ministrations, the cloth in his hand ceasing to polish the car any longer as he looked unsure whether he could brave a glance at his father.

"_Please_ don't tell me you're going to start threatening to buy a gun for the house," Kurt mumbled, half smiling and half serious as he peaked at his father through nervous lashes.

Burt let out a ringing laugh, walking around the car until he was barely a foot away from his son.

"Kurt, you are my _son_. Not my daughter. It is not my duty to chase your dates away with a gun. As your father, I reserve only the rights to embarrass you, grill you about your dates, and be proud of you. Even if your type is mohawked punks. I'm not here to judge."

Kurt had his arms around his father before his own laugh of delight could fully breach his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered in his father's ear even as Burt squeezed the air out of him in a returning embrace. "Just, thank you thank you thank you."

"Huh," Burt shrugged his son off with mock indifference and nudged his shoulder gently. They surveyed the car together even as the minutes ticked by, and they knew Carole would not be impressed if they arrived home _too _late. "Just know I'll be having a proper talk with you soon."

Kurt did not like the sound of that at all.

"Dad, you can't be serious."

"Oh yes I can, buddy."

"Dad, no."

"Kurt, yes."

"We're not even in a relationship yet!"

"Well I'd better act fast before I'm too late then, eh?"

"Dad, I am begging you. If you go anywhere near the s-e-x subject, I'm moving out. Forever."

"Well, at least you can spell it. That's a start."

Kurt considered retorting that he's fairly certain Noah would be more than happy to teach Kurt _all_ about sex, but as he blushed at the bare humiliation of even _thinking _such a thing, he realised he would never be able to voice that statement to anyone, least of all his father. And in any case, regardless of his father's claims, Kurt knew Burt Hummel would be more than happy to purchase a gun if he thought it was necessary.

"Dad, I'm begging you to drop this subject."

"I will, I will," Burt promised, ruffling his son's hair, much to Kurt's disgruntlement, and waving his hands innocently. "For at _least _two days," he concluded with another husky laugh.

"Let's just go home," Kurt pleaded, racing to his car as he shouldered his bag and Burt locked up.

"Ok, kiddo," Burt grinned, watching his son turn back and wave, albeit with a dark blush in his cheeks. "Let's go home."


	9. epilogue

**Title: Daddy's Boy**

**Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.**

**Pairings: Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles**

**Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.**

**This is for none other than the marvellous WaitingForThisMomentToBeFree , who I am still smiling for even now. Thank you for kicking me up the backside about FF, I can now post this! It's a small token to you all which I hope you like. First off, I just couldn't leave Blaine alone without a bit of closure even though he's only a minor role in this story, and secondly, I hope you remember a certain conversation Kurt and Noah had before about kissing…**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, but massive shout outs in particular to the aforementioned WaitingForThisMomentToBeFree , as well as me and Mr. Jones and DiDiGlee. Everyone who's read this, please go to my profile which I share with the wonderful StormySally and read her story "As A God", which is still ongoing and far superior to this little trifle =)**

**As for future projects, keep an eye out - I have a lot of ideas at the ready!**

**Lotta love, -Kyle xx**

(epilogue, too many months later)

Sometimes Kurt can ignore the little things. He can pretend he doesn't know who punched Azimio a mere hour after Kurt's treated to a staining grape slushy facial. He can pretend he doesn't know who it was that left him a new pack of pens in his locker after the football team nicked off with half his things when his bag was left unattended for just a few seconds one lunch break.

There are little things that can be ignored but this…this he can't ignore.

Because it's in the middle of an incredibly crowded auditorium, and everyone's cheering themselves on at having tied with the Dalton Academy Warblers at Sectionals, and everyone's hugging one another, and his _dad's _here with a proud grin on his face. And as Kurt stands as calmly as possible, trying to take it all in, a large hand with calloused fingers slipped into his own.

It's presumptuous and bordering on arrogant and if Kurt weren't so damn _thrilled _he'd done it, he'd have had no qualms about slapping Noah Puckerman around the face for such an uninvited public display of affection.

Maybe because it's romantic and spontaneous and everything Kurt wanted a boyfriend to be capable of doing.

Not that Noah's his boyfriend, of course. But the thrumming in the back of his mind tuned to a beat that sounds suspiciously like his heart keeps reminding him. _All summer. All summer. All summer. All summer._

Noah kept it up all summer. Ever since a promise to wait, Noah's kept it up. Which is enough to question the phrase _kept it up_, really. There's no façade to be _kept up_. It's just life.

It's just Noah and Kurt and that's ok.

They're ok.

So when that hand slides against his own, fingers interlocking, Kurt doesn't pull away. He squeezes gently.

He doesn't look to the side. His eyes remain forward, staring with a curiosity that tugs at his heartstrings as the Warblers celebrate much like the New Directions. He watches two of the boys hugging, one bright blond and the other with jet hair slicked back using a generous to the point of excess amount of gel.

"That's him," Kurt announces abruptly to both himself and Noah. He speaks it with the wonder of the revelation still new to his voice.

"Who's who?" Noah asks, sounding concerned as if he's not managed to pick up on some cue that he should have caught. It's paranoid and sweet and Kurt smiles despite himself.

"The lead singer," he indicates the group of blazers. "He's the boy that was in that café in June."

Kurt can tell Noah's genuinely paying attention now by the way he leans forwards slightly, licks his lips and frowns gently in concentration, trying to pick the boy out from among the bunch. He lets out a noncommittal _huh_; briefly glances at Kurt and then back again.

As if feeling speculative eyes on him, the lead singer of the Warblers turns around and, noticing the silent watchers, he nods appreciatively. There's something in his expression as he notes their joined hands that isn't what they were used to expecting from an Ohioan, not only accepting but glittering with some small shimmer of delight; the way not only does his smile not falter, but in fact gets bigger, the way he nods deliberately as if to make absolute sure they see him.

And Noah and Kurt nod back, because it's polite and because they can't quite look away yet.

Even as a tall young man that Kurt recognises as the older brother from all those months ago rushes over to pull the boy into a tight embrace, distracting him. And he _definitely _can't turn his back yet, not as an older man with a definitive family resemblance to both brothers also joins them, letting go of his pretty wife's hand to clap his youngest on the shoulder and mutter something.

It doesn't matter that Kurt can't hear him, because the look on the man's face is proud, and the younger boy leans in to pull the man who can only be his father into a ferociously tight hug.

It's enough for Kurt, he realises. He doesn't need to see anymore, has no excuse to spy on this family moment when he has his own family to look for.

A family that he realises, as he and Noah turn in unison, are watching him with amusement, waiting for him to drop Noah's hand and start spluttering in embarrassment.

But he doesn't. He looks to his left to see that Noah Puckerman's already staring at him, and the blush that creeps into both their faces doesn't mar their smiles.

"Be my boyfriend?" Noah asks with a tone that would befit a discussion of the weather, which is sunny and warm outside.

And Kurt isn't sure what possibly gave him the courage to do it, but instead of speaking he leans up ever so slightly to peck Noah Puckerman chastely on the lips.

And this time there's a laugh of triumph as he announces to the room, though only the two of them can hear him, "Not weird at all."


End file.
